State Dinner
by Alexandra926
Summary: AU - Iris 2 has failed, and Watney is presumed to have died on Mars. One year later, he mysteriously reappears on Earth.
1. Chapter 1

The two buildings created a sort of natural windblock, protecting him from the worst of the chilly winter morning. Should have packed a winter coat, he joked to himself. Earth's gravity made him feel like an elephant in a man's body, and he could barely move, pinned to the cold pavement. His breathing steady, his consciousness began to wane. Exhausted, his eyes flickered closed, and he was weightless once more.

Houston Space Center

0815

Coffee, I definitely need some coffee, thought the research associate on his way to Building 2. He rounded the corner and noticed the man laying in the shadows created by the breezeway between the two buildings. A vagrant? He gripped his phone and began dialing security. He didn't see any weapons, but this was still a secured area, and it was highly unusual.

"Yes, there's a guy passed out here by Building 2. He's not dressed for the weather, you should send someone out to get him. No, I think he's probably just-wait, I think he's a NASA employee."

Security having been summoned, he knelt next to the crumpled figure, studying the dark blue, NASA-issue sweatshirt. It was ragged and threadbare; the seams were grey with dirt, and the unwashed smell was strong enough to make his eyes water in the chill morning air.

"Hey, buddy. You okay?" He prodded the figure gently; no response. He grasped the man's shoulder and attempted to roll him onto his back. The man's shoulder felt odd-loose and disjointed, almost. He placed his hand on the man's ribcage, gratified to feel it moving steadily up and down. The man's face was startling; sharp, jutting cheekbones, ashy complexion, an unkept blond beard, and eye sockets that appeared distinctly sunken, with dark circles beneath.

In the distance, he could hear the reassuring whine of the campus ambulance siren.

The dark blue sweatshirt caught his attention once more-the insignia was faded and filthy, but he thought he could barely make out the words. No, that couldn't be right. Ares 3?

A grey-uniformed security officer approached, talking into his receiver. He straightened and stood up, adrenaline coursing through him. He shook his head. Impossible. But the idea had taken hold, and he couldn't help comparing his mental image of the lost astronaut to the prone figure lying in front of him. He blinked and stumbled as he stepped back, shaking his head again.

This was definitely way over and above his pay grade.


	2. Chapter 2

Houston Memorial Hospital

"He's groggy, but awake for the moment, if you want try again, Dr. Kapoor."

He walked into the hospital room, cautiously. The room seemed unbearably noisy, alight with monitors and medical equipment. The patient was indeed, awake. The blue eyes followed him unsteadily as he approached.

"Watney?"

Mark nodded, even that small effort seemed to exhaust him.

It was impossible. Absolutely impossible, but the astronaut that had starved to death on Mars, the astronaut that had defied the odds and survived so much before permanently losing contact with NASA, was lying before him in the hospital bed. He was overcome, he could barely manage to speak. He tried again.

"Watney, do you know where you are?"

Mark nodded again.

"Houston," he whispered hoarsely. "You don't look happy to see me."

"Happy to see you?" Venkat smiled in spite of himself. "Happy is not the word. Dumbfounded is more like it. Mark, how is this possible? In the two days since you made your reappearance, not one theory has been floated on how you could have possibly built a spaceworthy craft with the available tools and then launched it from Mars with enough supplies to make it home. Impossible." He shook his head again. "How did you do it?"

Mark nodded again, slowly. "Dr. Kapoor," he said quietly, "Don't get the wrong idea. I am completely willing to tell you what happened; all of it. But I need to know," his eyes met Venkat's with a quizzical expression, "are you going to be required to share what I say with the world, immediately?" He paused for a moment, talking had exhausted him again and he tried to catch his breath. "Because if that's the case, be careful what you ask."

"This isn't an official interview, Mark. But I've got to be honest, this whole scenario has NASA very worried. The handful of people who are aware of it, that is. When Iris Two failed, and we didn't see any more updates from you; we assumed the worst, Mark. Did we misjudge? Did Iris Two reach you, intact?"

Mark shook his head. "It didn't. Even if it had, I'm not sure if I could have done anything with it, honestly. I was weak from starvation by then, I wasn't able to suit up to clean the solar panels anymore, I was sleeping about 20 hours a day, barely hanging on."

"We noticed that the panels weren't getting cleaned anymore, yeah. So you ran out of food entirely?"

"I was down to the last potato, yes." Mark grinned. "I wound up not needing it."

Venkat caught his breath.

"What happened, Mark? Start from the beginning."

"It's a long story, Dr. Kapoor, and I'm not in the best shape, here." His eyes closed, and he sighed. "It's noisy in here, too. Hard for me to concentrate."

"Okay, Mark. We'll talk some more after you've rested. Is it alright if I bring Teddy Sanders with me? We need to assess how we're going to handle this, and-"

Mark nodded briefly. His eyes stayed closed.

"We'll get this sorted out tomorrow, Mark. Get some rest. Good to see you."

He backed out of the room slowly. At the nurse's station, he paused a moment to tell her that the patient was sleeping again.

"Someone's going to need to tell his parents. Teddy, I think it should be you."

Mitch Henderson spoke quietly, deep in thought. It was early Thursday morning, and they were having a brief meeting in a hospital break room they had commandeered for the occasion. Venkat and Teddy were awaiting word that Mark was awake again.

"What do we tell them? We've got your boy. The one that we held a funeral for now, TWICE, and he's alive and we don't know how?" Teddy shrugged. "You're right, of course. I'll get on a plane this afternoon. Hopefully Mark will give us something more to go on. This whole situation is completely insane."

"Is it absolutely certain that Watney has been in zero-G for several months? There's no other explanation for his lack of muscle tone and weakened heart, correct?" Venkat looked to Dr. Beck.

"That's my assumption, yes." Beck cleared his throat. "From the information I have here, yes. He looks exactly how I would expect someone who'd made the journey back from Mars in zero-G to appear. If a human could have survived such a voyage at all, which is scientifically dubious in itself."

"What about the fingernails? The ridging on his nail beds." Venkat was holding a report they'd gotten from a different NASA physician the previous evening.

"Yes, that's compelling evidence that Mark suffered a lengthy and severe nutritional deficiency that ended, suddenly, around ten months ago. That would tend to rule out the scenario of Mark outfitting his own craft, and lean in favor of a rival space agency-sponsored rescue mission." Beck held his breath, he knew he had reignited the same burning debate that had held them all captive the last two days.

"Seriously? You think China went behind our backs and launched their own probe to go get him, without us even getting a whiff that they were up to something? I wouldn't have thought that was within their capabilities by a long shot. And if, by some miraculous chance, they succeeded where we failed, wouldn't they be proudly announcing that to the world right about now?" Teddy sighed. "That doesn't make sense. None of this does."

They fell into silence.

"Suppose he did get ahold of Iris Two somehow," ventured Mitch, "just suppose all of our data is incorrect and it did land near the Hab before he was in deep starvation. What if he loaded it up, somehow, and took it all to Schiaparelli and used the MAV there to launch for home?"

"He never would have made it," Venkat replied. "Life support on the MAV would never have been sustainable for that kind of voyage. No way. And the Ares 4 MAV is exactly where Martinez parked it, anyway. No data to suggest that it's been touched. And Mark already confirmed to me that Iris 2 never arrived."

There was a knock at the door.

"He's awake."

"Mark, I'm going to be recording this, okay? So that we can transcribe it later. It's all still confidential at this point, though. Speak freely, and try to be as complete and accurate as possible."

Mark cleared his throat, coughed, and began.

"This is going to sound really crazy. I should have died. And I almost did, so many times. I don't recall the exact SOL, but it's in my logs, once I can retrieve them."

"Your logs?" Teddy interrupted, in spite of himself. "Is there any chance that we'll be able to access any of that data, without returning to the Hab for it?"

"I brought it all with me, don't worry."

A flurry of consternation erupted from Venkat and Teddy, as they tried to make sense of what Mark was saying.

"You brought things with you? Where? How? What, exactly?" Venkat stammered in his surprise.

"All my data logs, a hundred kilos of Mars soil samples. Don't worry, your researchers will have plenty to keep them busy. But I'm getting ahead of myself." Mark paused for a moment, and stopped to survey his audience. They were agape.

"Please continue," croaked Venkat. "You weren't sure what SOL it was?".

"Yea. I was laying in my bunk, typing some goodbye letters on my laptop. I knew I was getting close to the end, by then. The Hab was in low-power mode."

"Because the solar panels weren't getting cleaned, correct?" Venkat asked.

"Right, I'd been too weak to clean them for several weeks by then. So there I was," Mark grinned at them, "and the walls of the Hab started shaking. The floor, too. My first thought was that it was an earthquake. It felt kind of like an earthquake. It lasted for about, I don't know, over a minute, less than two."

"I tried to think what it could be, but I just came up blank. Nothing looked different outside. It was kind of bizarre. It occurred to me that maybe NASA had just soft-landed something near the Hab, even though I knew it wasn't likely. So I summoned up all the strength I had left, got my EVA suit on, and cycled through the airlock. I managed to take about two steps before I fell over onto my side, but at that point I was able to see that there was a lander craft, maybe 300 meters from the Hab."

Stunned silence filled the room, while Mark caught his breath from his long speech. He motioned that he would continue in a moment.

"A landing craft," said Teddy, weakly. "Whose was it, could you tell?"

"The Chinese" Venkat managed. "They sent some sort of rescue capsule?"

Mark shook his head, still winded.

"Someone else, then?" Teddy asked. Mark shook his head again, closing his eyes for a moment.

He began again.

"It did look sort of similar to a MDV, but it was taller. It had writing on the side, but in a language I had never seen. A lot of geometric shapes, spaced out like letters. I was too weak to do much more than lay there in the dust, but I had my EVA suit camera, so I angled it around to take some pictures of this thing."

Teddy nodded, eyes wide.

"There was what looked like an airlock on the bottom quarter of the craft, and even though I was weak as a newborn kitten, I started planning that I would crawl out to it, to see what was inside, if I could manage it. Honestly, I was in pretty bad shape, I wasn't sure I could even get that far. I had just started to roll onto my hands and knees to try to start moving again, when I saw the airlock start to open. It had a sort of aperture opening sequence, not like any airlock I'd ever seen."

"I took a few more pictures and tried to get video on the aperture sequence, but didn't quite manage it. Anyway, someone in a suit stepped out at that point.".

"It was a MANNED rescue mission!?" Venkat gaped.

"Yea, you're telling me. I almost passed out. And I really did pass out when the person got close enough that I could see that they definitely weren't human."

Silence again, as this began to sink in.

"Watney, are you telling us-seriously-that you were rescued by aliens?". Teddy managed to say, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Just one alien, actually." Mark grinned at the unprecedented state of his audience. The dramatic reveal had been very satisfying.

Venkat spluttered something that sounded like, "describe..." while he appeared to be at the point of not being able to breathe properly.

Mark paused for a minute again, and then said, trying to remember exactly, "She was small, maybe 1 and a quarter meters tall. She was pretty strong though, she must have been. She carried me in the EVA suit, back to her craft. I came to, just as she was closing the airlock. There was a sort of... lift... thing she hoisted me onto. Alien version of a cargo elevator, I guess. She came right after me, though, and she motioned for me to take my helmet off."

"Mark, you took your helmet off in an alien spacecraft? Please tell me you didn't." Venkat hung his head. Hadn't Mark been through enough training to recognize how dangerous that could have been?

"Well, my EVA suit said the atmosphere was okay, a little higher oxygen level than humans usually breathe, but nothing harmful. And remember, I was practically dead already. It didn't seem too risky at the time. Frankly, I was out of options, and making friendly with the nice alien that owned a spaceworthy vehicle seemed like a good plan. "

Teddy cleared his throat, and said, "Ah. So you thought you'd go ahead and ask the alien if you could hitch a ride. May I ask, how did you know she was friendly? How'd you even know she was female?"

Mark laughed. "I have no idea! So there I was, fumbling around trying to unlock my helmet, on this spike of adrenaline. I couldn't even manage it. She had to do it. I passed out again, I think. She was examining me when I came to again.".

"The alien gave you a medical exam." deadpanned Teddy.

"Well, yeah. I was almost dead, she told me later how worried she'd been that I would die before she had a chance to talk to me."

"She told you... later?" Venkat asked, a hundred anxious questions in his voice. "How did she tell you things? Did she speak... English?"

"Oh, hell no!" Mark burst out laughing. "Oh, how I wished that she did! Communicating with her was a bitch! Especially at first."

He paused for a long time, catching his breath. He was getting tired again, and it showed.

"Mark, do you need a break now? This is a lot for us to process. And we don't want you to overdo it." Venkat was still reeling, and he was feeling a little faint himself.

"Yeah, I could use a break. We can talk some more about it tomorrow. But I have a few questions. Nobody here is talking to me, and I don't know anything-anything that's happened on Earth-for the last year and a half. Did the rest of the crew make it home okay? Do they know that I made it home? What about my parents?".

Venkat sighed. "The rest of the crew arrived on schedule. Dr. Beck is here in Houston, and has been assigned to your service, we thought you'd prefer that. The rest of the crew hasn't been apprised, yet. We just don't really have any real narrative yet to tell them. We're still putting things together, you understand?"

Mark nodded. It would be great to see Dr. Bossy Beck again.

"And Mark," Teddy added, "I'll be on a plane to Chicago in two hours to go talk to your parents. Do you want me to bring them to Houston?"

"Yeah, I'd really like to see them, and the rest of the crew if it can be arranged. Thank you, sir."

"Mark, this is a work in progress, just be patient. You've done an amazing job so far. It'll take a little while to bring you the rest of the way home." Venkat stood up, and shook Mark's hand. "Get some rest. I'll be back tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Chris Beck looked a little bit out of place, wearing a lab coat thrown over his NASA uniform, but since he hadn't had a chance yet to go home, it would have to do. He'd pored over the available information in Mark's chart a dozen times by now, even if a lot of it was contradictory and didn't make very much sense. But he knew the main reason for this sudden reassignment from NASA-they meant for him to be one of Mark's "anchor" people as NASA psychologists attempted to determine his mental state and reintegrate him. The prevailing theory that Mark had spent an entire year alone, in zero-G, did not bode well for his friend's future.

Muscle atrophy, check. Weakened heart. Dangerously low blood pressure. Low bone density. There was a laundry list of problems to monitor, not to mention the psychological aftermath of being abandoned on Mars, more than once. What does that do to a man? Kapoor and Sanders had both reported that Mark seemed in reasonably good spirits earlier in the day when they had conducted their brief interview. He knew that he would have a chance to read over what Mark had said, when the transcripts were available later that evening, but he'd have to conduct this next examination mostly in the dark.

He took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in. Mark was awake, and appeared to be examining his hands. He looked up briefly, and smiled.

"Beck! They told me you were hanging around this place! NASA doesn't have anything better for you to do these days, huh?" He glanced down at his hands again, carefully crossing his arms across his chest. "So how much did they tell you, so far?"

Beck smiled back, the happiness at seeing his friend again was more than he could contain. The professional veneer was completely cracked. "They threw me in here blind, man! I don't get to read your transcript 'til tonight at the earliest. It's really good to see you, Mark." Now the veneer was falling away in shards; he sank into a chair, putting his head in his hands. "This is so unbelievable."

"I know, right? I spent all those SOLs, trying to get home; now that I'm here..." he trailed off, overcome.

Beck stood up once more, still unable to keep the huge smile at bay. He took a deep breath and attempted to restore some of his professional demeanor.

"So! I have a vested interest in getting you well again, because right now you're in no shape to go out drinking. And I owe you a beer. Let's get started, here."

"I take it that there's not much good news in that chart." Mark deadpanned.

"What have you been doing to yourself, man? Did whatever spacecraft you highjacked not have a gym? You know you're supposed to do a couple of hours of exercise every day when you're in zero-G, Mark."

"Dr. Bossy Beck." Mark laughed. "I was in extremely cramped quarters. There wasn't anywhere I could stretch out without banging my head on something. Let alone exercise. And now I'm too weak to lift a spoon. I guess I've earned that." He looked at Beck, ruefully. He knew that he shouldn't share too much about his journey home, before they'd had a chance to get what Kapoor called "the narrative". But surely some basic, medical-oriented information wouldn't be frowned upon.

"You know they were doing all sorts of examinations while you were unconscious, the first day you were here? You've been through the MRI, had blood drawn a half dozen times-" Beck glanced down at his chart. "And they were very interested in your fingernails."

Mark glanced at his hands again. His fingernails looked normal to him. Some white spots on the nail beds, maybe. And some ridges he'd never really noticed before.

"Really? That's what they were interested in?"

"Yes, since you were zoned out, and they were dying to ask you how you got home-you didn't give us much to go on, pal. Anyway, the ridges right here," Beck motioned to a horizontal ridge across Mark's thumb, "This would indicate that you had a sudden turnaround in your health. About 10 or 11 months ago."

Mark nodded. "Yes, I had rations for the trip home. It wasn't anything good, but it beat the alternative."

"What were you eating?"

"Honestly, I'm not entirely certain. My-" Mark's hands were clasped together again, as he fumbled for the correct words, "crewmate, on the voyage home, shared their rations with me."

"But you didn't have enough to eat? You're still very thin."

"Oh, I had enough. It was pretty nasty. And I did put some weight back on during the trip home. It's just that I was practically a skeleton by the time I left the Hab."

Beck paused. "Okay." He blinked, made a notation on the chart, and shook his head. His eyes closed for a moment, and he took a deep breath. "Okay, so... once you were on your way back to Earth, you were eating regularly, but not exercising. Any idea what your calorie intake was, during this period?"

Mark thought for a minute. "I'm not sure. I'd estimate, 1500 calories a day? It didn't exactly have metric labels."

Beck shook his head again. Unbelievable. This was not happening. "Okay, 1500 or thereabouts. How about sleep, what was your schedule like?"

"Eight hours out of every twenty-four, I think. I had the time and date on my laptop to go by, and I tried to keep my sleep schedule on as even keel as I could. I wasn't perfect about it, to be honest though. At first, I was sleeping way too much, but by the second month of the voyage I was suffering from insomnia pretty bad."

"Did you take any sleep medications, to get back on schedule?"

Mark laughed. "No. I didn't have access to anything like that. Well. I don't know. Maybe I did." He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment. "Anyway, no. I don't think so."

"Don't think so." Beck muttered, consulting the chart again. "Okay. So you know you're going to need a lot of physical therapy, right?"

"I assumed so. When do you think you'll have me back on my feet?" Mark grinned. He was anxious to get started. "And how about hooking up a crewmate with some actual food, huh?"

"Easy, tiger. It's Jell-O and chicken broth for you, for at least another day. Then we'll see."

Mark sighed dramatically. "You're killing me, doc." He grinned at Beck. "Do you have to leave right away? There's so much I want to hear about, from you. How are things with Johannson? When are they going to tell the rest of the crew?"

"I need to go feed the information vultures their morsel." He waved the chart, with an arch expression. "Then I can come back, and we can hang out for awhile. Tell you about life with my nerd babe. You feeling tired?"

"No, I'm good. For the moment." Mark smiled again. "It really is good to see you. It feels so normal, talking with you."

Beck grinned back, "Okay, sit tight. I'm just down the hall. I'll be back in a little bit."


	4. Chapter 4

Mark Watney was staring intently at his hands as Venkat Kapoor entered his room Friday morning.

"Good morning, Mark!" Dr. Kapoor smiled. "You're sitting up today, that's great!"

"Hey, guys. Good morning. For my next feat, I will attempt to eat some solid food for breakfast." Mark grinned.

"Not til tomorrow, according to Dr. Beck." Venkat replied smoothly. "How are you feeling today? You're looking stronger."

"I feel very... heavy, still. But better. Teddy still in Chicago?"

"He should be meeting with your parents just about now, actually. We're anticipating that we can get them on the phone for you, before they get on the plane."

"I'd like to be able to talk with them as soon as they know. Will it be okay if we wind up taking a break from this, if we're not done for the day by then?"

"Of course, Mark." Venkat motioned that his device was recording, then motioned to Mark. "Let's continue with where we left off yesterday. You mentioned that your... rescuer? Had examined you. What happened next?"

"Well, not very much. At first. I was still in really bad shape. I slept for a long time. When I woke up, it was dark inside the cabin, and I could see her above me, in the ship's... kitchen area. It wasn't much of a kitchen, but that's what I called it, anyway. There was a see-through slat directly above me. I heard this musical sound, coming from somewhere right near my head. It was some sort of medical monitor.

"A musical sound?"

"Yes, it sounded like chords, being struck on a piano. It was kind of nice, after all the disco." Mark paused. "I think, by then, I'd probably been there for 6, maybe 8 hours. I'm not sure. Maybe it was telling her I was awake. She came and sat next to me, offered me a mug, covered bowl, thing full of something white to drink. It looked like soup." Mark wrinkled his nose at the memory.

"She motioned for me to drink it, but I was a little hesitant. She opened her mouth and spoke to me, for the first time. It sounded like the medical monitor-like music. Everything she said, sounded like a 4-piece quartet. It made absolutely no sense. Nice to listen to, but we had to go completely on context, at first."

"At first? Did you... eventually- try to learn her language?"

"Ha. No. I did try to learn to say her name, a few months later, after having heard her say it to me about a hundred times. But that was later, and even then, I was so bad at it that it made her laugh."

"Okay, so we're talking about a MUSICAL language, full of chords and impossible for a human to imitate? You eventually managed to learn one word-her name-and other than that?"

"We started with something like sign language. Like with the soup, that first day. She had obviously told me it was perfectly safe, go ahead and drink it. I knew that's what she meant; she had a bowl of it herself, and she took a drink, motioned for me to do the same." Mark grimaced. "It was awful. Tasted like stewed cardboard and stale soy milk. I didn't have any idea whether it was even safe for humans."

"I should say not."

"It did make me sick, at first, actually. Nauseated and bloated. But I was pretty far into starvation by then, so maybe that would have happened with anything I tried to eat. I don't know. Anyway. While we were eating, she started trying to get the basics of what had happened. She had a small... computer, thing. Round, about the size of a quarter. It would project things, upward, as she talked to it. She used it to pull up some star charts, and a diagram of Mars."

"She wanted to know what you were doing there."

"Yes, that was the general idea I got, as well. She pulled up a diagram of Earth, and pointed to it. I nodded my head, and that was our first real conversation. She picked up on Yes/No pretty quickly."

"So you built on that, expanding your vocabulary?"

"Right, we started with the small talk, who are you, where are you from? and moved on to me being skewered by an antenna, and hastily-constructed NASA vehicles that should have arrived but didn't."

Venkat hung his head. "Sorry, Mark. We tried."

Mark laughed. "I know, just giving you a hard time. Anyway, we talked, or tried to, until late that evening. She brought me another bowl of yuck to eat, and we just soldiered on, trying to hammer out some basic communications. Her language had a written component as well. Each sound, or word, had a different geometric symbol, which was then marked through and some sections would be colored in. It represented the different sounds, I guess. Nothing I could really make heads or tails of. But once we had agreed on a word, she'd make a video clip of me saying it in English, and then she'd write down what it meant in her language."

"You created a system, then."

"Well, she did. Really, at first we failed a lot more than we succeeded. But by late that second night, we were starting to get some very basic information flowing."

"And she offered to take you back to Earth."

"Well, no. Not right away. It was certainly what I was thinking. But I tried to be a charming and friendly, diplomatic type at the first. Didn't want to start asking for favors, right away."

Kapoor nodded.

"So by then, I needed to use the bathroom pretty badly. I was feeling quite a bit stronger, so I started to suit up and tried to make my way down to the airlock. She followed behind, and showed me how she operated it. She would speak to her small computer thing, she usually had it attached to her hand, and it would start the air cycle. She followed me back to the Hab."

"You invited the alien to come into the NASA Hab." It was a statement, but Mark could sense that Dr. Kapoor did not really approve.

"Well, I didn't want to be rude. She was curious. She's a scientist, too."

"She is?"

"Yes, stop interrupting. So she followed me around the Hab for awhile, while I tried to politely excuse myself to take care of business, as they say, but she wouldn't really take the hint. Finally I motioned for her to stay put, while I went in the toilet and shut the door. She opened it, while I was midstream, ha!"

Kapoor's eyes widened, and his eyebrows arched.

"Yea that was how we nailed down the word "embarrassed". First time I heard her laugh, too. Nice sound. It was kind of freaky, having someone else in the Hab with me, by then. It'd been a long time since I'd seen anyone. It was good to make a friend, weird as it was."

"I'm sure it was." Venkat mused.

"So after that, nothing else would do, but she had to go in there to inspect the toilet, while I showed her the schematics of how it worked. She was fascinated. She took pictures of everything, and we entered lots of new words into the communication application she was making, on her small computer."

"Her computer device-what were the capabilities of that, exactly? Could she use it to communicate with other..." Venkat trailed off.

"Uh, yea. She could send out messages, and get news from home. But it took a really long time to send and receive, so any information she received was never anything recent. It was all about things that had happened many years ago. So she didn't really seem to be too invested in it."

"I need something better to refer to her, you said you managed to learn her name?"

"Oh geez, don't make me try to say it for real. Man, I can't sing for shit. Actually, you can call her what I called her after awhile. It was as close as I could get, without actually singing it. Oh-ah-ee-ah. I called her Oaiea. She laughed about it, but she answers to it. So yeah."

Venkat's cellphone rang just then, as he was trying to internalize the name of an actual alien. An alien named Oaiea, following Watney around the NASA Hab. He shook his head.

"You going to answer that, Dr. Kapoor?"

Venkat snapped back to reality. He shook his head again. He prodded the ringing phone absent-mindedly.

"Kapoor, here." He listened for a minute, nodded to Watney, and handed him the phone. "It's your parents, Mark."


	5. Chapter 5

It was Friday night, and Chris Beck was finally home. The apartment that he shared with his girlfriend was dark and quiet. Beth sat in her armchair, laptop open. Her dark grey hoodie cowled around her face, and her headphones were on. Beth's version of a "Do Not Disturb" sign. Research? Coding? He wasn't sure. He hated keeping secrets from her; especially this one. It had been four days now, and it was becoming unbearable. One more night, he promised himself. Just a few hours to go. She'd know all about it tomorrow morning, when the Ares 3 crew would be complete once again. Even Vogel would be there, he had boarded a plane in Berlin that afternoon.

And two more days after that, the press conference. The world was going to be a different place, as of Monday morning. Right now, Chris was exhausted. He showered and collapsed into bed, remembering the day's events.

Mark's dad, shaking his hand and thanking him for taking care of his son. His mother, tears in her eyes, refusing to leave Mark's side. They, too, were getting a small preview of the new world that awaited everyone else on Monday. Mark, still drawn and thin, worn out from his first PT session, was ready to take the next step on his journey. Chris closed his eyes, trying to will his mind into calmness. One more night. He began to drift, idly wondering whether NASA could scrounge together a new uniform for Mark by tomorrow morning. One more night.

 **Houston Space Center**

"What am I supposed to say, Mitch?" Annie Montrose snarled at Mitch Henderson. "What the hell am I supposed to say! The first question out of their ape shit mouths is going to be - how did we not know-AGAIN-that Mark Watney didn't die."

"No, I think their first question will probably be something more along the lines of, 'Holy shit, pictures of a real alien spacecraft, how fast can we launch a nuke at it?"

"This is going to be a bloodbath. When all of those satellites suddenly died last year, how were we supposed to know they'd been disabled by Watney's new road trip pal? Space weather! God, how stupid are the fuckers in SatCon?" Annie paced the meeting room, as they brainstormed the best answers to the most obvious questions they were likely to get.

"Which of these pictures should we lead with, you think?" Mitch asked nobody in particular. "I like this one, of the alien puttering around with the toilet in the Hab. Really captures the spirit of the whole thing."

Annie glared.

 **The White House**

Teddy had been in the Situation Room before, but this was the first time, as far as he knew, that anyone had ever informed a sitting president that an alien spacecraft had landed on American soil, with only the permission of a hitchhiking astronaut. The conversation had been colorful, to say the least. President Roberts was immediately swept up in the notion of "handling" the situation and somehow using it to curry support for himself in the upcoming election.

"You think it's a peaceful alien. You're absolutely sure?" President Roberts mused, for the fourth time.

"As far as we know. That's what Watney assures us."

"And Watney has requested the private meeting with me, to pass along a personal message. From the alien." He closed his eyes. "Can it even talk?"

"I'm told that she can communicate with some sort of application she and Watney designed. It's probably rudimentary, at best. Watney thinks it should suffice."

President Roberts tried to shut out the handful of aides and military personnel that were requesting to speak. He had a pounding headache.

"Yes. Yes, I'll meet with him. Set it up, right away."

 **Houston Memorial Hospital**

It was midnight, and Mark was alone in his hospital room. He knew he should be sleeping, but he was too keyed up. Tomorrow was going to be the start of something huge. Somehow, he'd never envisioned himself ever undertaking a journey more important than the one to Mars. But now he was caught up in something much larger.

A single, musical note, barely audible against the din of the equipment, chimed. He studied his hands again. He tapped the small circle in his right palm, and pulled up the message that Oaiea had just sent.

 _Go to sleep._

He fumbled for a moment, pulling up the words he wanted. He smiled for a moment, and double tapped the circle to send the message and turn off the device.

He slept.

 _Mark had awoken, one morning some three months into his journey to Earth, to find Oaiea poring over a video file. It was, like most video files from Oaiea's computer, filled with trilling musical notes thundering over a backdrop of flashing pictures. Scenes of sad-looking aliens, cityscapes, and pictures of star charts, with the diagram of Earth that he'd seen before, many times. Mark supposed it was something akin to CNN for aliens. It was depicting things that had happened very long ago-he didn't have an exact understanding, but thought this was probably because her home planet was many hundreds, maybe upwards of a thousand light-years away. Information traveled back and forth, but it simply moved too slowly to be of very much importance. He tapped his computer and pulled and prodded at the menus until he'd found the words to say, "What is that? When did it happen?"_

 _Oaiea thought for a few moments. He wasn't sure she wanted to tell him anything this specific, or if they even had the right words in their translator. She was usually guarded with him, with this type of questioning. She tapped for a long time, erased things repeatedly, and finally, double tapped. "It is the end of the voyage. The last time our people met." Her face was solemn, whatever she was saying, it was something of great importance to her. Personal importance? He couldn't tell. He knew a little bit about her history. She was from a race of long-lived beings, compared to humans. How long-lived, she seemed to hold those cards close to her chest, but he assumed she had to be over 1,000 years old. She didn't look that old, she looked a little bit like a young girl, actually. Her small stature and large eyes gave her an innocent, youthful appearance. Her eyes had a starry opalescence to them, a quality Mark vaguely remembered as 'chatoyancy' from some long-forgotten geology course. Those eyes were fixed on his, now, as she tapped another message. She spoke to her computer in a symphonic chord sequence that sounded somehow sad. It was strange, that while he couldn't ever discern any individual words in her language, other than her name, occasionally he did pick up on the timbre of what she was feeling as she spoke the words. Sang them. She pulled up her calculator application and did some quick multiplication._

 _"This event happened 5,984 Earth years ago. Two of my fellow travelers-" She paused for a moment, tapping and speaking to her computer to continue the statement. Mark knew that by travelers, she referred to the small percentage of her people, that like Oaiea, travelled for their life's work. They were the information gatherers, the scientists. The nerds. His kind of people. "-landed on Earth. They brought with them the hopes of a generation that had endeavoured for so long to reach out to them." Mark cringed, he could only imagine what sort of response they'd gotten from the mankind of 6,000 years ago. The Stone Age, or the Bronze Age-spears and rock-hewn weapons, perhaps. "The travelers were violently removed from their lives. Their technology destroyed. My people do not condone war-like behavior." Mark thought for a moment. This was what she had been leading up to, why she had wanted to help. He was beginning to understand now._


	6. Chapter 6

Sometimes you just had to be there, thought Mark Watney. This was something he'd been looking forward to since SOL 6. He winced a little bit as Beck helped him arrange himself in a hospital-issue armchair. He couldn't endure the indignity of a wheelchair, and he'd be damned if he'd greet his team lying in a hospital bed. He'd had a shower and a shave, and sure enough, NASA had come through with a new, navy blue uniform for him. It didn't have M. WATNEY embroidered on it, but he supposed that would have started too many people talking, lower down the NASA food chain. It fit nicely, though. It was a good feeling. His hospital room, such as it was, was crowded with extra chairs and a table with some snacks and drinks laid out. It lent a sort of party atmosphere, even though Mark knew the reactions of his crew-they were his friends, his family-was going to stir up a lot of mixed feelings, for all of them.

Commander Lewis was the first to walk in, followed by Johanssen, Martinez, and Vogel. Lewis stood silently, in shock, when her eyes met his. She had no words; nobody had told her what to expect at this unexpected Saturday morning, mandatory meeting. She took a step back, with a look in her eyes that would pulverize rock. Was she angry? Apparently she was, yes. Not at him, though. She was still angry with herself, he could see that clearly now. She managed a small smile and wave, and then she turned away, unwilling to let the others see her tears.

Martinez, ever the ice-breaker, ventured, "I thought we agreed to leave this guy on Mars."

. . .

"Wait. What?" It was the most frequently spoken words that morning, as Mark tried to fill them in on how exactly he'd managed to make it home. "Say that again?" He tried to go as quickly as possible, telling them about his voyage home. It never failed, though, as he hit the interesting parts of the story, someone would shake their head incredulously and demand more details. "No, you did NOT." Details that he hadn't yet had a chance to tell Venkat yet, but this was his team. His people. They deserved to know.

"So, let me get this straight." Beth Johanssen's eyes were full of laughter. "You let the alien give you a medical examination? Didn't you ever watch cable TV when you were a kid?"

Mark laughed and nodded towards Lewis, "Thanks to Commander Lewis here, our new alien friend's first introduction to human habits and culture was the collective works of Bo and Luke Duke. Oaiea couldn't get enough of the Dukes of Hazzard."

Shouts of laughter, as the crew rounded on Lewis, who was wearing a sheepish smile. She was starting to relax, in spite of herself. She hovered near Mark's shoulder, giving it an occasional pat.

"She was quite fond of the Mork from Ork episodes of Happy Days, too. Just for the record."

Beck snorted.

"Any chance we'll get to meet her?" Vogel hadn't said much, but this was obviously something he'd been considering, quietly. He was usually the softest spoken of the team, and chose his words the most carefully.

"I'm hoping you do." Mark replied simply. "We're going to meet with the President. Hopefully he can be convinced to allow Oaiea a visit. She wants this to be a peacemaking mission."

"That sounds like a political fiasco," noted Vogel. "Do you think she'll be willing to share her technology?"

"I don't know." Mark sighed. "I kind of think, probably not. She's been very cautious in what she's told me about her people. I get the feeling that she's gone against protocol, by helping me."

"Where is she now?" Lewis asked.

"Not very far away. She wasn't willing to land her craft here without permission, except for very briefly when she dropped me off. She touched down, let me out, and took off again."

"She drop-kicked your ass through the airlock and split, you mean?" Martinez smirked.

Mark rolled his eyes at Martinez. "Pretty much," he agreed. "But she's hanging around, at least for a few weeks, while she waits to see if we can negotiate a sanctioned visit. Want to see how I talk to her?"

The room fell silent.

"Are you serious?" Johanssen's eyes were wide.

Mark opened his hand, so that they could see the translucent circle-shaped computer that fit snugly against his palm. It was difficult to see, if you weren't looking for it. He tapped it to bring up the menu system.

"Oaiea controls hers with her voice, but I have to do everything the hard way on this one." He poked and prodded at the projected images as he sorted through the menu options, as the team gaped.

"Watney, you should have turned this over to NASA." Lewis looked stern, her Commander face slipping on effortlessly. "Alien technology is nothing to play around with."

"It's keyed to work only for me," he replied. "See? You try to tap it. Nothing happens. It's the only extra one she has. She gave it to me. A gift, from one scientist to another. I'm not giving it to NASA to pick apart. It belonged to her crewmate, I think."

"She had a crewmate?" asked Beck.

"I think she did, once. Her ship was built for two, for sure."

"What happened to him? Or her?"

"I don't know. I never asked her. It didn't seem appropriate."

The crew was silent for a minute.

"Do you think she's listening to us now, with it?"

Johanssen had hacker's paranoia, but she also possibly had a point.

Mark smiled. "I wouldn't care if she was, but no, she's not." He pulled up a menu, spun it to show them. "No audio link active." He gestured to some geometric symbols, "I have to grant permission for her to do that, right here."

"Look at you, master of the alien cell phone." Martinez shook his head, laughing.

"Those symbols, Mark. They're freaky. Did you learn how to read... what language is that, anyway? What's it called?" Johanssen asked.

"No. Here, let me pull up an audio clip of it, it's nothing I can possibly say." A few moments later, several trilling notes sounded, in the quiet hospital room. The text below it identified it as _Oaiea's Language_.

Vogel, ever the diplomat, stated ruefully, "And I thought learning English was a challenge."

"Tell me about it. We started out with short video clips, using a combination of sign language and me speaking the word we'd agreed on in English. Then she assigned it to a symbol-word in her language. Eventually she was able to create a text alphabet for me to assign the new words a name."

"That must have been like pulling teeth." Beck's eyes were wide. "I take it that developing this application here, " he gestured to the menu that Mark was currently poking, "this must have kept you busy on the way home."

"Yes, it was a big part of our schedule. Probably three or four hours per cycle, adding new words as we were able to agree on them."

"What's that one?" Johanssen gestured to a symbol that was exaggerated in size, comparatively. "Is that how you indicate words that you use a lot?"

"Yes, exactly." Mark had finished tapping out his message.

 _Oaiea, say hello to my crew!_ He double-tapped to send it.

Lewis weighed in again, with a note of censure in her voice, "Watney, you shouldn't be communicating with the alien like this-NASA should really be involved, here."

A single musical note sounded. Mark tapped the circle, and the Ares 3 crew listened to the message, spoken improbably in Mark's voice.

" _My greetings to the crew of Ares 3. Mark, NASA researchers have retrieved your EVA suit and other belongings_."

"She dropped off my stuff, at the same time she dropped me at Johnson Space Center, on Monday," Mark explained. "I had her leave it on the roof of Building 2. I think they've been looking through the logs and things since late last night."

"Bet they're loving that. When does all of this go public, anyway?" said Lewis.

Beck spoke up, "Monday morning. Annie Montrose is setting up the press conference."

The others turned to him, but it was Vogel who formed the question. "How long have you been in on this, anyway?"

Beck looked down, embarrassed. "Since the morning they found him. NASA sent a car and a couple of officers to bring me in. I thought I was being arrested for something. I spent a couple of days meeting with Teddy Sanders and Venkat Kapoor, while they argued back and forth about every possible thing. There was a lot of coffee involved."

"It's true, he's barely been home all week." Johanssen piped up. She gave Beck an elbow to the ribs. "Holding out on me, I see," she grumbled.

Beck circled one arm around her, pulling her into a well-practiced hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Teddy Sanders walked in at that moment. Mark sprang back against his chair, looking guilty, as Lewis gave him a meaningful expression. Tell him, or I will, it said. Mark nodded at her.

"Sorry to break up this reunion," he smiled at them. It was good to see them together again. "But the Presidential convoy is on the way from the airport now. I need to speak with Mark."


	7. Chapter 7

The camera crew continued to adjust the lighting, as the NASA video crew prepared to record the meeting. The hospital's board room had been chosen as the location for this momentous occasion. This was quite the unprecedented meeting, thought Perry Roberts. The President, a NASA astronaut, and an alien. It sounded like the setup for a joke. Watney had given them a basic overview of what Oaiea was likely to say to them; he'd sheepishly revealed, by then, the alien computer device he'd managed to keep secreted since his rescue. Oaiea would be using it to broadcast a pre-recorded message that they had been composing during the last week.

In particular, the president was not pleased that he was expected to issue an apology on behalf of the whole of humanity, for atrocities committed six-thousand years ago. Two lousy aliens! Killed by cavemen! It was hard for him to summon up much sympathy, but Mark had prodded him about it repeatedly. He simply couldn't ignore it, as ridiculous as it might seem, to him. He'd had to endure a crash course on the culture of this alien, in the hopes that he wouldn't say something irretrievably offensive. For instance, Oaiea's people, if they possessed a spacecraft, considered it to be a member of their family-or even more important than that; it was their mother, their father, their child, all rolled into one. Therefore, Mark insisted, that President Roberts would be wise to issue his welcome first to the spacecraft, and only secondly to its owner. Perry tried to imagine a foreign delegation welcoming Air Force One to their country, and welcoming himself only in the fine print. He shrugged. Whatever. The language barrier was something of a problem, as the spacecraft in question DID have a name; it was simply impossible for him to say. No amount of help from a dialect coach was going to help him today. He shook his head, ruefully.

The meeting was not meant for broadcast in entirety, of course. Clips from it would, no doubt, be used during Monday's press conference. Hopefully they could edit out the worst of it, though as often as not, the media would do the exact opposite. President Roberts' tacit approval of this, the very first acknowledgement of alien intelligence, was incredibly risky for him, politically. It wouldn't do; for him to be seen as weak, accepting first contact from an extraterrestrial out of the fear of reprisals if he didn't. However, public opinion was bound to swing wide for Watney, who had approached legendary status in the public eye in the past two years. There was going to be strong public sentiment in favor of anything, anyone, who had helped bring Watney home to the country that adored him. It could be-maybe- a brilliant triumph for his presidency and NASA; it could also go completely pear-shaped, if the public reaction leaned towards fear and intolerance.

. . .

Mark, for his part, was resting up while the camera crew bustled around him. He looked surprisingly calm, an eye in the storm of activity and anxiety around him. His parents hovered nearby, their presence being deemed necessary by NASA's head of public relations. He sat quiety, studying his hands occasionally as Oaiea put the final touches onto her statement. He'd had his first look at her list of demands (requests? he couldn't really imagine President Roberts saying 'no' to anything, here) earlier, and he was trying to help streamline her proposal into something that didn't sound quite... so alien, there was no other way to put it; as he rearranged words and phrases to make them sound as natural as possible. He double-tapped to send the final draft back. There were thirty minutes remaining, he estimated. It was almost showtime.

He grinned to see his mother and father having camera makeup applied. His father was scowling at the makeup artist, as the powder puff approached his face. They'd already done their job on him. His skin tone looked healthy and even again. He'd actually recognized the man in the mirror tonight, and it was a good feeling. Time to bring this man back to life, he told himself.

. . .

Two podiums had been arranged, in front of the small audience and the camera team. A row of chairs sat behind them, occupied by the essential personnel. The director of NASA, the Secretary of State, several Ares 3 crew members, and of course, Watney's parents. Mark Watney sat in the center chair. He gave President Roberts a quick grin, as he approached the left podium, and began to arrange his speech cards.

The other podium was empty, save for the small, rounded communications device in the center. It came to life, suddenly, as trilling musical notes issued from it, and Oaiea's head and shoulders appeared. The image was somewhat transparent, and flickered occasionally, as the room fell silent. A crescendo of chords, a four-piece orchestra of sound issued from the device, as Oaiea introduced herself, first, in her own language. The English text of her speech ran like subtitles close to the projection base.

 _My greetings, to the President of the United States. I am Oaiea, a traveler and scientist._

"Your ship is welcomed here, Oaiea," began President Roberts, "and I want to start by thanking you, Oaiea, and welcoming you to Earth as well. You have done a wonderful thing for my people, by bringing our astronaut home."

 _I am glad to have brought Mark Watney safely back to Earth. My ship did most of the work, however._ Oaiea smiled.

The president paused for a moment. Was she making a joke? He couldn't be sure. He smiled back, just to be sure. Then he assumed a very serious expression, and soldiered onward.

"Oaiea, on behalf of all the people of Earth, I apologize for the deaths of the two travelers, killed on Earth."

 _Their deaths, and the loss of their ship, were felt very deeply by my people._

"They were explorers and travelers, and their deaths were a terrible tragedy; they will never be forgotten. I am very sorry for your loss."

 _Thank you, President Roberts. It is good to know that this war-like behavior is no longer condoned, on your planet._

"I would like to offer your ship, and you, permission to land on Earth, on American soil. Will you accept this offer of friendship? The American people are grateful for everything you've done, and I welcome you to come and walk in peace, among us.

 _Yes, a second chance for peace between our people; This is our ultimate goal._

"I agree, Oaiea. Peace and friendship between our people is our ultimate endeavor."

 _Mark Watney has attempted to explain to me how peace accords are arranged, in your culture. I therefore respectfully suggest that you hold a state dinner in honor of this historic agreement, President Roberts. This tradition is something our cultures have in common._

"A state dinner is a wonderful idea, Oaiea. On behalf of the American people, I would like to formally invite you to attend a state dinner, in your honor, at the White House."

 _I would be honored to attend. However, my ship requires special consideration. Can you provide safety for my ship, and myself?_

"Yes, of course. Your ship is welcome to land at Andrews Field, where my own ship, Air Force One, is protected with the full force of the United States military. Will that be acceptable to you, Oaiea?"

 _Yes. I also require a formal documentation that I have been invited to land my ship, and visit your territory. Mark Watney suggested that perhaps the United States could issue me a passport, or other official travel document. My people view these formalities with much importance, Mr. President._

A passport? What the hell is a big-eyed alien going to do with a passport? That's a really strange request, Perry thought. But what the hell, he'd hand over his own passport if she asked for it, if it would help this peace accord move forward smoothly.

"We can arrange that. We'll have one prepared for you right away." Was there anything else?

 _Thank you, President Roberts. I realize it will take some time to plan this state dinner. Do you have an estimation of when it will be?_

"I'll have to check with the White House social secretary, Oaiea, but an event of this magnitude will take some careful planning. Does one month from now sound acceptable?"

 _Yes. I look forward to meeting you in person. It was a pleasure speaking to you._

"The pleasure is all mine." Ever the gentleman, the president bowed his head slightly, and smiled at Oaiea's projection, as it flickered and then disappeared.

That was the strangest conversation I've ever had in my life, thought Perry Roberts, as he sank into a nearby chair.


	8. Chapter 8

It was late Saturday evening, and Mark Watney had a hot date-with his first hospital-issue tray of actual, solid food. Not Jell-O, not potatoes, not Oaiea's space sludge. It appeared to be chicken and vegetables, and he felt like crying.

"Am I interrupting something?" Beck grinned, poking his head into the room.

"Come in, don't be shy. Unless you've come to haul me off to physical therapy again. In that case, go away." Mark grinned.

"We'll have another session tomorrow morning, you're safe for tonight. The way you're looking at that tray though, man. Just make sure whatever you're planning there is... consensual." Beck smirked.

Mark cheerfully flipped him the bird, and motioned for him to come in and sit. "You headed home soon?"

"Yep. The crazy hours I've been keeping this week. I'm bushed."

"What did you think about that meeting earlier? Crazy, huh?"

Beck laughed. "No kidding. Our hillbilly president managed to hold it together. Thought he was going to piss himself there at the beginning. It's funny to think that no matter what else that guy has failed at or managed to do in his career-nobody is ever going to remember him for anything else besides THIS. And he said the Ares program was a waste of money."

"I know, right? I've missed most of this clown's presidency; I certainly didn't vote for him. He didn't vote for us. I wonder what the world is going to make of all this," he mused.

"By the time he has that state dinner next month, he'll either be the second-most popular guy in the world," Beck genuflected to Mark, "Or he'll be impeached."

"Should be interesting, either way." Mark grinned, with his mouth full. "Tell me what's been going on during the cloak and dagger meetings with Sanders and all of them?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe some of this shit. They're leaning on me to start coaching you-" Beck put his palm to his face, to indicate his opinion.

"Coaching me to do what?" Mark inquired, good-naturedly.

"Talk to your alien girlfriend. Ask her questions. Get her to submit to a medical study. Let NASA poke around her ship. All kinds of stuff."

Mark was doubled over laughing. "Oh, no. Stop, seriously. Oh geez, you're killing me." He rubbed his sides, still laughing. "Ow."

"I know. I know. It's nuts. But prepare yourself; the crazy, it's coming for you."

Mark shook his head, ruefully.

"I guess they figure this is their one shot, they might as well go for the brass ring." Beck grinned. "How are you feeling? Starting to get some strength back?"

"A little bit, I guess. Mostly I feel sore. My back hurts."

"Well, that's to be expected."

Mark was quiet for a minute. "You can tell them I'll ask her. But I really, really doubt that any of those things are going to be happening."

"I figured as much."

"She thinks that any huge technological breakthroughs could destabilize humanity. She's probably right."

"Yea. I get that. I guess we're like toddlers with machine guns, to her, as it is."

Mark nodded, thinking. They were both quiet for a few minutes.

"Mark?"

"Hmm?"

"I've got a question, actually. It's none of my business, I know. But I'm just curious."

Mark groaned. "She's not my girlfriend. Jesus Christ." He rolled his eyes.

"Not that." Beck laughed. "How'd you manage to hide that?" he pointed at Mark's hand. "I could swear that we gave you a pretty thorough inspection, when you were unconscious."

Mark relaxed. "Oh, that." He smirked. "It's easy, check this out. I just put it into camouflage mode." He prodded and tapped at it for a few moments, and then Beck watched, as it changed colors, blending seamlessly into his skin. "Neat, huh?"

"If by 'neat' you mean, 'freaky as hell', sure."

"Yea, well... it goes both ways, you know." Mark grinned. "Imagine how some of our crazy human stuff looks, to her."

"Still can't believe you let her watch The Dukes of Hazzard."

Mark laughed. "Actually, she found it pretty easy to relate to. The idea of humans that treat their vehicle like it's a member of the family-I think it gave her some hope for humanity, after all."

"Good lord. Don't tell Lewis that. Alright, man. I'm out. See you tomorrow."

"Drive safe. No barrel rolls."

x x x

 _Even after nearly two months aboard, Mark was still discovering nooks and crannies he'd never noticed before. And as small and cramped as the ship was, there were certainly areas that he was not welcome to go. He suspected that his unlikely companion wasn't easy to get to know, under the best of circumstances; before the language barrier was accounted for. She was intensely private, and once their work on the translation app was finished for the day, she usually retreated to the kitchen area and interacted with him as little as possible. She spent hours upon hours, studying and making notations on star charts and other unfathomable documents written in her strange code. She rarely smiled, and never laughed, not since she'd made the decision to make the journey to Earth. The early comradery they'd shared in the Hab had evaporated, somehow, and now he felt more alone than he ever had._

 _He'd spent the first month of their voyage slowly recovering from starvation; his digestive tract a constant bother. He slept for long stretches, mainly waking up for meals and then finding himself exhausted again after just a few hours of sedentary work. As his health began to slowly return, his sleep schedule swung to the other extreme. Sleep was difficult to come by, and anxiety had begun to eat away at him. Was she his rescuer? His jailor? He got the feeling that there was something about him, on some very basic level, that she just didn't like very much, though she remained politely remote in all their dealings together. Was she secretly planning to throw him out the airlock? He just didn't know. He began to spend too many hours, obsessively reorganizing his small storage cache, with only claustrophobia and anxiety to keep him company. It wasn't healthy behavior, he knew, but he didn't seem to be able to pull himself out of it, as dark thoughts occupied his mind for longer and longer stretches. He'd begun to suspect that he would never see Earth again._

 _He also suspected that she hadn't always been alone. There were two seats, in the small cockpit niche, as well as two seats in the lowest level of the ship that Mark had privately dubbed "the living room". There were two closet-like sleep chambers, also; although one of them had been converted into a storage area at some point. They were designed for much smaller occupants than himself, unfortunately, and he had to make do with sleeping curled in the area near the airlock, in between two NASA-issue blankets he'd duct-taped together. His "bedroom", such as it was, was a irregular little space about 1.5 meters cubed, and did nothing to alleviate his feelings of claustrophobia._

 _Today, he'd learned that what he'd previously understood to be the bulkhead, in the area beyond the kitchen, was actually a panel, that provided access to an area of the ship that he'd never seen. Probably more storage. But now, the unknown space was yet another irrational thing to add to his list of worries._


	9. Chapter 9

Chaos.

Utter pandemonium.

The planned press conference had gone ahead as scheduled, followed by a televised statement from the President. Now, as the truth was beginning to set in, the citizens of the world sat silent, glued to the ongoing live coverage. The various media outlets were responding in typical style, as the issue was split seamwise among conservative and liberal viewpoints.

Depending on what channel was showing, it was either the "end of the world" or "the greatest day in history" as the media feeding frenzy grew and grew. Mark Watney's survival and safe return was only a minor detail in the bigger picture, as the world's focus shifted to Washington. President Roberts was endlessly discussed, simultaneously lauded and despised, burning in effigy, while being praised to the sky. It was a dizzying turn of events, as public opinion formed, changed, and formed again.

Reporters demanded to see the invitation list for the most memorable state dinner in living history, as pundits weighed in with their opinions on who would be invited and why. A former White House social secretary estimated a hard limit of 500 guests, while others who claimed to be in the know, assured viewers that the actual number would far larger, or far smaller than that. As in previous times of stunning developments, there were never enough details to satisfy the public hunger, and rumor and hearsay ran rampant. Attention-seekers flagrantly invented details, and it didn't seem as if anything could stop the rushing tidal wave of controversy and elation.

x x x

"Mark, I'm turning on the recorder so that we can continue where we left off yesterday." Venkat gestured to his device, cleared his throat, and continued, "Can you tell us about your most recent communication with Oaiea?"

"Yes. Um, sure." Mark fiddled with his computer, pulling up the recent transcript of his conversations. Venkat photographed it, to add to the existing log.

"Give us your assessment of how you think she's doing. Do you think she's feeling anxious? Impatient?"

"Hmm. No, she doesn't seem anxious. Or impatient. She did find that passport application amusing."

"Amusing, how?"

Mark shook his head. "She just thought it was funny, all the questions about her place of birth, date of birth, proof of identity. Normal everyday stuff, for humans. You know, in her culture, that sort of question is like, incredibly rude. Offensive. A passport application is like a concentrated dose of it."

Venkat paused for a moment. "Well, okay. But how else are you supposed to find things out? She doesn't exactly seem to do much volunteering of information."

"Tell me about it." Mark shrugged.

"So I see that she has flatly declined our request for a tour of her spacecraft. Guess I expected that."

"Actually," Mark said, grinning, "She clarified her position about that."

"She did? That's excellent news, Mark! Good job!"

"Well, don't get too excited. She said that she didn't want any scientists or academics examining her ship. She did, however, add that she would allow President Roberts to come aboard for a private meeting, once she's landed the ship at Andrews."

Venkat blinked. "Secret Service is never going to agree to that."

"She'll probably get very offended if he doesn't. It's some kind of cultural thing, she'll give him some sort of gift. Might be technology. So my advice would be to make it happen."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments. Then Venkat spoke up.

"Do you think she would allow him to bring anyone else?"

"Doubt it. I'll ask, but you know where that usually gets us."

x x x

 _He needed a tree._

 _There was an old saying, a story that Mark had once read, about someone that had been chased by a savannah lion. "It was right on my heels, there were no trees I could climb, and I had nowhere else to go." The listener would ask anxiously, "How did you survive, then?" And the answer of course, "I found a tree." When your life depends on it, sometimes you just have to forge your own method for survival. Find that tree, even if you don't see it at first. "There's always a tree." was the moral of the story._

 _Mark was flipping idly through menu systems, as he and Oaiea did their daily quota of grammar, vocabulary, and categorization, followed by question time. They were nearly three months into the voyage by now, and their humble little communication app now included over 1,400 words. Enough that they could craft basic conversations, though these were usually one-sided. She asked; he answered._

 _Nearly all attempts that he'd made to turn it around, and ask questions himself had been met with stony silence. Very occasionally, a grudgingly brief answer, if the information it imparted was deemed sufficiently useless. Honestly, it pissed him off, more than anything. But it was her ship; her rules. And without her, he'd have died. So what choice did he have? He dutifully plowed ahead, trying to keep his mind on track. He checked his clock. It was nearly 11:30 in the morning. Soon, Oaiea would call a halt to this morning's category time and transition into question time. They'd been working on antonyms, and he had the word "make" highlighted. To make. Create. What was the exact opposite of that? Wait a minute. Suddenly that tree began to materialize. Oh, shit. Why didn't I think of this before?_

 _He pushed the synonym menu away excitedly, pulling up the tool menu to create a new association category. Oaiea watched him, impassively, as he tried, for the first time, to explain compound words. Take two words, put them together, new word. Simple enough. She nodded briefly, as he rotated the symbols for "space" and "ship" and then joined them together, associating it with a third word, "spaceship". She inclined her head, nodding thoughtfully. She tapped on the new category. She looked at him expectantly._

 _Mark quickly pulled up the words for "life" and "time", and then joined them with "lifetime". Take two words, put them together, new word. Oaiea smiled, she had never noticed these word triangles. It was an entirely new facet of the language. She watched as "every" and "thing" were rotated and formed into "everything". The words stayed the same, but the meaning changed._

 _Now, Mark took a longer time, while he crafted a new word, and added a definition. Then, he brought up the words for "peace" and "maker". He joined them together with his new word, "peacemaker." The definition was her name, and his. His eyes met hers, and he smiled, expectantly. She nodded, still smiling, as she drew the correct symbol in her language and added it to the file. She brought up the audio capture, and gestured to Mark._

 _He cleared his throat, and spoke the word aloud, "Peacemaker". Then, for the first time, he sang out her name, as he'd heard it a hundred times before. His voice couldn't accommodate anything but the basic four notes, but he tried his best. Oaiea collapsed into laughter. Mark, grinning, pulled up the word for "embarrassing" and she nodded enthusiastically in agreement, still smiling._

 _Experimentally, she then tried to form his name, in response. The results were similarly hilarious. "Mark", minus the hard consonants that didn't exist in her vowel-based language, sounded like "Arrr!" Space pirate. He couldn't help it, he doubled over laughing, bringing his hands to cover his face._


	10. Chapter 10

"Well, now, that's something you don't see every day."

Watching from a safe kilometer away, the night crew at Andrews Field stared as the small, light-colored craft became visible above a plume of yellow and white flame. Slowly, the craft touched down on a remote area of the runway.

"I suppose everyone within about 100 miles of here got an eyefull! Man, that thing was bright!" said another service crew member. Stunned silence fell over the workers. It was one thing to hear about aliens on the nightly news. It was another to see one landing, not too far from the employee parking lot.

"Now what?"

"We leave it alone. Don't get close to it, that's what they said."

x x x

Mark Watney was getting settled in at the rehabilitation center they'd chosen for him, near Langley Field, Virginia. He'd be here until after the state dinner. Beck and Martinez were on hand for the evening's festivities: both of them were still glued to the TV, as they watched the continuously-looping coverage of Oaiea's touchdown, from an hour or so ago. Dr. Beck had grudgingly allowed a few sips of beer for Mark, but the carbonation had quickly upset his stomach. He'd been back on Earth a little over two weeks now, and he was now able to-with some considerable effort-to walk unassisted for a few steps. His strength was returning, slowly, the product of daily, grueling physical therapy. He was pushing himself hard.

Though logically, Mark had read his charts. He knew now that he'd most likely shortened his lifespan considerably by taking such a long voyage in zero-G. His heart and lungs had suffered permanent damage, and his bone density was dangerously low. He could still live a normal life, after rehabilitation, he hoped; but he would need to be forever careful. One final "fuck you!" from Mars.

A musical note sounded, and Mark tapped his computer to pull up the message. Beck and Martinez turned back to him, ever interested to watch a message come in from Oaiea.

 _Mark. I need your help._

Mark paused. He started to tap out a message. He wasn't sure how much help he could be to anyone, in this condition, but he'd certainly do whatever he could.

 _What's wrong, Oaiea? And welcome to Earth, by the way._ Beck and Martinez were reading over his shoulder, fascinated.

 _Thank you. I have been here once before. Mark, I underestimated the effects of your planet's gravity. Can you meet me at the ship? I need help to access the forward storage compartment._ Mark was amused, but sympathetic. Poor Oaiea, it hadn't occurred to him that Earth's gravity would kick her ass, as well as his.

 _Oaiea, I can barely walk myself across a hospital room. And I haven't been cleared to drive a car._

Mark met eyes with Beck and Martinez, who were both nodding eagerly.

 _Can I send my crewmates, instead? They are happy to help. They can be there in about three hours._

"Three hours? I bet you fifty bucks we can be there in two!" Martinez grabbed his keys and started for the door, tossing his cell phone to Mark.

Beck snorted. "And here I was, thinking that watching an alien spacecraft landing on TV was going to be the most interesting thing I did tonight."

 _That will be fine, Mark. Please stand by for translation assistance. I will notify you when they arrive._

I'd better call President Roberts, Mark thought.

x x x

"Slow down, for God's sake! You're going to get us killed, Rick!" Beck shouted. Martinez was weaving through the light traffic on I-64. Beck glanced at the speedometer. It read 95 mph.

"I am going slow. This is as slow as I know how to drive." Martinez smirked at him. "What are they going to do, pull me over and give me a ticket?"

Beck rolled his eyes. "I'm not worried about getting pulled over. I'm worried about how they're going to be sponging you off the pavement."

"Relax. I haven't lost any passengers. Lately."

Beck's phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Beck, this is Teddy Sanders again. How close are you guys?"

"Five minutes."

"Three minutes." argued Martinez.

"Good, good. Okay, guys. Just remember the protocol. Wait for Mark to act as translator, if there's any question. Don't make any sudden movements."

"She's not going to BITE us, Teddy. This is the alien equivalent of when my wife yells at me to get something off a high shelf for her." Martinez grinned. No sudden movements. Seriously? "Relax."

"You guys pay attention, okay? And be careful. Andrews should be able to wave you right through, just show them your ID. The president is waiting for my call. Keep me in the loop." He hung up.

Martinez steered the car through the main gates, as a flurry of flashbulbs exploded. Clearly, the media had been tipped off.

They parked some distance from the remote runway, and walked the rest of the way. Beck texted Mark when they stood a few meters away, looking up uncertainly at the tall, sand-colored ship.

 _We're here_.

"Okay, so go on in there." Beck looked at Martinez.

"Here goes nothing." Martinez stepped into the open airlock. "Oh damn, it's a really tight squeeze through here, man."

 _Greetings. Welcome aboard._ They froze.

"Man, does it freak you out to hear someone else using Watney's voice like that?" Martinez whispered.

Beck nodded emphatically. He called out, "Hello, Oaiea" for lack of anything better to say, as Martinez climbed up ahead to the next landing.

Oaiea sat reclined, on the short couch opposite the small kitchen that Mark had described to them. Her eyes were wide and darted from Beck to Martinez. She gestured to the round panel above them. Beck stretched his hands up. He could reach it on tiptoe.

 _You will need this._ She held out her round computer to Beck. He took it, gingerly, and held it up towards the panel while Oaiea spoke to it. The panel opened and then slowly swung down. He handed the computer back to her silently.

 _I need the white box._ Beck peered up into the cylinder-shaped storage area.

"I don't see it. Do you?" Beck asked Martinez.

"Um... yea, I think so. Is that it? Give me a boost." Martinez brushed his fingers along a long, white enameled box that was packed snugly against the bulkhead. He carefully pulled it loose and then handed it down to Beck. "It's heavier than it looks."

 _Place it on the floor_.

Beck did as he was asked. He paused for a moment, studying Oaiea more closely, as his doctor's instincts began to kick in. Oaiea looked visibly exhausted and ill. He dialed Mark, his heart pounding.

"Mark, is she okay? She looks like she needs medical attention."

"Oh, no. Shit. Okay, let me ask her."

Moments later Oaiea's computer sang out.

She listened to Mark's message, looked at Beck, her chalcedony eyes boring into his. Then she smiled, and broke into laughter. She was laughing at him. She sang out a reply to Mark.

"She's fine, Beck. Says she needs to sleep a couple of cycles in high gravity, and then she'll adjust and be fine. She appreciates your concern." The snarky tone in Mark's voice told Beck that Oaiea's actual message had been more colorful.

Beck exhaled. "Good. Okay, tell her I'm sorry for being nosy. We're leaving now."

She smiled at them again, her eyes still laughing and limpid.

 _Thank you, Major Martinez. Dr. Bossy Beck._ _Goodbye_.


	11. Chapter 11

President Roberts strode confidently towards the alien spacecraft, his daughter Sophia trailing in his wake. He did not usually "bring his children to work", but then, this was no ordinary first meeting. Sophia Roberts had been a strategic choice; she carried a significant amount of popularity in her own right. Her Air Force career had been the topic of discussion as much as her fashion choices, since her father had assumed the presidency, three years ago. The American public and press thought highly of the young woman; who as often as not, had her own opinions and no compunction about speaking her mind. In particular, she was a known supporter of the space program, while her father had been outspokenly against it, at times. There was a certain undeniable polarity between the Roberts, younger and elder, but a great mutual respect and love, as well.

Watney, for his part, had endorsed this notion. He thought that Oaiea would probably enjoy meeting her first female human. And it couldn't be denied that Sophia was Perry Robert's pride and joy, on a personal level. The implied level of trust could only be a good thing for the meeting, as well as in the court of public opinion.

Father and daughter had reached the airlock.

"Ladies first." He smiled down at his daughter.

She gave him one of her peerless, fearless grins, and he felt his heart melt a little.

x x x

 _Please sit_. Oaiea gestured to the two small chairs in the lower section of the ship. They had already been through a brief exchange of welcomes and introductions, and now, President Roberts was starting to feel a little bit less anxious; after all, he had Watney listening in with his communication device for translation assistance; he'd spent plenty of meetings in the hands of translators and dialect coaches. This wasn't too big a leap.

"Oaiea, thank you again for inviting us aboard. This is..." he trailed off. Oaiea was placing a covered bowl on the console table nearby. She gestured to him to take it. Oh dear.

"Delicious. Thank you." His daughter had already taken a polite sip, bless her. She placed her bowl back on the table carefully.

President Roberts fumbled in his inner jacket pocket, producing a small manila envelope, which he offered to Oaiea.

"I've brought you a little something. Call it a 'Welcome to Earth' gift."

Oaiea looked at the envelope with a quizzical expression, and handed it back to him. She spoke then, to her computer. Perry jumped at the unexpected sound of the crashing trills and chords, and stilled himself. Had he done something wrong? He glanced at Sophia, who raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes a tiny bit.

Mark's voice chimed in, "It's okay, she just doesn't know about envelopes. Open it for her."

"Oh. Sorry." He turned it over, unfastened the metal cleat, while Oaiea watched, fascinated. He slid the dark blue, gold-embossed passport out onto the console table, and pushed it towards her several inches with his fingertips.

"This is your passport. This means that while you, and your ship, are in American territory, you are an American citizen, with all the same rights and privilege as the rest of us." He still wasn't sure why she cared, but apparently this was what she wanted. He looked at her expectantly.

 _Thank you_. Oaiea opened a long, white box, and carefully removed a crystalline tablet. She offered it to him, with a solemn look. _This is yours_.

He studied the tablet. It was divided into quarters, with alien symbols and pictographs. There was a star chart showing the solar system, a diagram of earth, and a picture of him; he recognized it from his Wikipedia page. His eyes swam as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at. Oh, wait, there was English lettering here, too.

 **Earth**

 **United States of America**

 **President Perry George Roberts**

 **Citizen and Ambassador**

 **Peacemaker**

 _"_ This is..." he trailed off, overcome. "This is something I will treasure, forever. Thank you."

 _Your ship will be welcomed by my people. Your voice will now be forever heard. You are a citizen of my people now._ She inclined her head at him, and then spoke to Mark again.

Perry remained silent, tracing his fingertip along the edge of the tablet. It seemed solid, something that would survive the ages. It felt good, in his hands. He understood now, how Watney felt about his little round computer device. He was never letting go of this thing. Ever.

Mark's voice chimed in again, "President Roberts, that passport thing is a computer. She wants you to tap the bottom right quadrant on it, then record your first message to her planet's government. Say thank you, or something. Then double tap it to send. It'll take a few hundred years, but they'll get it eventually."

Perry tried to wrap his head around that. He shook his head, eyes closed.

"Oaiea, I am not worthy of this honor. My country is just one of hundreds on this planet. I'm not the best qualified-I'm not sure if I can..." he trailed off. To his eternal shame, he felt his eyes burn, and his throat ache. He fumbled for his handkerchief.

 _You will do fine, President Roberts_. She smiled at him.

Sophia reached over and squeezed his hand in hers. "You're going to be great, Dad."

x x x

"I still say we should definitely drive out to Arlington National Cemetery so Mark can see his memorial before they take it away, again." Beck grinned at Mark, who rolled his eyes and yawned.

"I think that might be a few too many warmongering dead humans, for our friend here," Mark gestured to Oaiea, who was gamely attempting to discuss fashion with Sophia Roberts. Sophia was showing Oaiea pictures of evening gowns on her cell phone, as Oaiea nodded and gestured. The four of them had formed an unlikely late-night sightseeing group after Sophia had offered to show Oaiea the highlights of Washington's National Mall.

President Roberts had declined their offer to join them ("You kids go on and have fun!") in favor of a late-night meeting with his public speaking team, as they tried to tackle the "thank you, or something" speech Mark had recommended.

Beck was glad to see that Oaiea had apparently recovered from the gravity sickness of several nights before; but he was, he had to admit, a bit chapped that she continued to address him as _Dr. Bossy Beck_ , despite his attempt to correct her.

The National Air & Space Museum had been the hit of the evening. Oaiea had been beyond fascinated, taking thousands of pictures with her computer, laughing and smiling at the quaint ways of the early Earth astronauts. There was even a display on the Ares Program, and Oaiea had pored happily over the models of Hermes and the Habs. Mark's "Ayyyy!" photo, taken with Pathfinder, elicited more laughter. Most human humor eluded her, but Oaiea had watched Happy Days-she could even do a passable Fonz impression herself, much to everyone's amusement.

Now they were back in the motorcade limousine, and Mark was exhausted. The comfortable, deep-sprung leather seats were doing their work, and it would be a long drive back to Langley. The feeling of friendship and safety and companionship surrounded him like a warm blanket. His eyes drifted closed, a faint smile on his lips.


	12. Chapter 12

Annie Montrose had a really foul mouth, Mark had noticed. She and the President's social secretary, Elaine Kohn, had driven out to Langley to meet with him this morning, and were currently picking his brain on the fine details of the state dinner, which was scheduled one week from tomorrow. The current hot topic was the dinner menu.

"No potatoes." Mark smirked. "Oaiea hates them. You don't want to start World War 3, Elaine."

Annie rolled her eyes. "Seriously, though, can you think of anything, anything at all, that we can use, here? Is she a vegetarian? Is there anything that we absolutely shouldn't have?" Traditionally, a state dinner's menu would pay some homage to the guest of honor, but they'd been unable to come up with any workable ideas.

"I really don't think she'll care, Annie. I've never met anyone in my life that cares less about fine dining."

Elaine nodded. It was too late in the game to be changing the menu now, anyway.

"Any progress on finding yourself a date, Mark?" Annie smirked at him. She was merciless.

Mark glared at her, defiantly. "I don't need one." This was bullshit. He looked at them, mutinously. He'd heard it all before. Even his Mom had called him up to tell him about some lovely daughter of some friend, before he'd told her to butt out.

Elaine shook her head, "You really ought to consider it. Nearly everyone attends a state dinner with a date, Mark. It's going to look kind of..." she trailed off. She didn't want to be mean, here.

"Pathetic." finished Annie. "Like our hero can't find a date."

"Fine," he snapped, "I'll ask Oaiea."

The look of abject horror on their faces. Oh, God, this was too good to be true. They thought he was serious.

Elaine coughed delicately, and began, "Mark, I don't know if that would-"

"Are you out of your FUCKING-" Annie saw Mark crack a smile, then. He couldn't help it. He ducked, as Annie smacked him over the head with a folder full of paperwork. "Asshole."

"I try."

"Moving along," Elaine cleared her throat, looking relieved, "What is your physical condition like, these days? Are we looking at you spending most of the evening in a wheelchair? It would be great if you could be standing during at least some of the portraits. Any chance of that?"

Mark thought for a moment. "I'm standing for pretty decent periods of time now, I might be okay with a cane and some frequent breaks. I'll talk with Beck about it."

"You are looking a lot better these days," Annie conceded. "You know, if you're interested, there's a girl over in SatCon that I work with-"

"OUT." Mark pointed to the door.

Enough was enough.

x x x

He was going to regret this. He already regretted it, actually. Dialing Elaine Kohn's number, to merely _ask,_ about this _distinctly unlikely_ possibility, had his hands sweaty, and heart pounding. But it was the best option he'd been able to come up with, even though ordinarily he wouldn't have acted on anything, nearly this quickly. Her secretary answered, who knew that secretaries had secretaries? and transferred him to Elaine.

"Mark, what can I do for you?" Elaine was polite, but inwardly she was smiling. She already thought she knew what this was about.

"Elaine, I was actually... curious, if... you happened to know," he took a deep breath, "whether or not Sophia Roberts already has a plus-one, for the state dinner."

Ha! She was right! "Oh, that's a good idea, Mark. Let me check." She pretended to shuffle things around on her desk for a moment, "Oh, hmm. Yea, it looks like she doesn't. That might work out very well."

"Okay. Well, thanks Elaine," he trailed off awkwardly, "Umm..."

"You know, your tuxedo was delivered here a little while ago, and I'm awfully busy and don't have time to drive it out to you for a couple of days, Mark."

"My... what?"

"You know, I think I'll ask Sophia if she might have time to drive it over to you tonight, how would that be?" Elaine rolled her eyes. Men could be so dense.

"Oh! Yea, that would be great. Thank you, Elaine." He sat staring at the phone, long after the line had gone dead.

Holy hell, what had he gotten himself into?

x x x

Sure enough, Sophia turned up around 9 o'clock that evening, clutching a garment bag. Don't blow this, he told himself sternly.

"Hey! Thanks for dropping that off," he heard himself say, "I hope traffic wasn't too bad?" Traffic?! Shit. Oh my God, I did not just say that.

"Oh, no, it was fine. Rush hour was over hours ago." She gestured to the closet. "In here?" He nodded. He watched, as she stood on tiptoe, hanging up the garment bag. It was a nice view, and he couldn't help letting his eyes take a quick, harmless skim from the ankles, headed up, when she turned back to him, suddenly. She'd totally caught him ogling her ass. He blushed. Good god, never mind. This was hopeless.

She turned to leave, "Okay, see you later, Mark." She was headed to the door, already. Fuck!

"Did you, um, did you manage to help Oaiea find a dress?" he stammered. She took a couple of steps back towards him.

"Oh. Yeah. I think so. She had it narrowed down to a couple of choices."

"That's good. Thanks for helping her."

"It was fun! No problem. Anytime you meet any other aliens that need a designer gown, you call me, okay?" She smiled, and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Was she leaving again? Shit! He was dying here.

"Have you already got your dress, ready to go?"

"Oh." She paused, and looked at him, quizzically, "Yep, I just so happened, to have a little something laying around that'll probably work, for the occasion." She smiled at him.

"Uh, hey. So I was wondering. Would you be my date? That is, I mean... if you..." he trailed off miserably. Fucking hell.

Sophia turned to stare at him, silently. Appraisingly.

"Like, a real date?" She had a sort of tone to her voice. Was it... sass? He wasn't sure. It sounded promising.

"Yea. Like a real date."

"Okay. You're on." She grinned at him. Now she was the one blushing. He felt a lot better.

"Okay, then." Game on! She said yes!


	13. Chapter 13

It was funny, but Oaiea seemed to be really enjoying her time on Earth, thus far. Initially, she'd been uncomfortable, being away from her ship for any length of time, but as the days marched onwards, she seemed to gain confidence. Hardly a day went by, that she wasn't invited somewhere to do something, it seemed. Whether it was taking in a ballet performance at the Kennedy Center, or visiting yet another embassy, it seemed like the local population had gotten somewhat accustomed to having her around. And the non-local population, as well. Washington seemed to be crammed with tourists, media crews, and visiting dignitaries, as the state dinner drew closer.

Public opinion of Oaiea, President Roberts, and Mark Watney had soared, accordingly. Acceptance seemed to have won out, over intolerance and fear, and Oaiea's confidence seemed to grow, like... well, a well-tended plant. He really missed botany.

Mark had almost-almost-gotten used to seeing her daily goings-on, covered on the nightly news. She still communicated with him often, but required his help as interpreter less and less frequently. It was Thursday night, and they were continuing their long-standing habit of adding new words to their application. They worked from pictures she'd taken; things she'd seen, people she'd met. She'd visited schools and hospitals, farms and factories, fascinated by all of it. It seemed like she had a thousand questions, but he enjoyed seeing his world through her eyes, and it didn't really feel like work. He stretched out on the small sofa, in his room, as the nightly news ended. He'd only been mentioned twice.

The rehabilitation center was not to be his home for very much longer, he hoped. Dr. Beck had deemed him nearly ready to transfer to an Independent Living facility, sometime in the next couple of weeks, and he was looking forward to that. One more step towards getting his life back. The final challenge was re-learning his ability to climb stairs, and he was getting there, slowly. After Independent Living, he'd be officially reintegrated-free to find an apartment, drive a car, get a job-it sounded wonderfully monotonous and normal.

But in the meantime, it wasn't so bad. He had a more or less constant schedule of rehab sessions, meetings with Kapoor, visits from his crewmates, a hundred other random things to keep him occupied. His circle was slowly expanding, it seemed. It felt good.

A tap on the door; it was Sophia, shyly stopping in to see him on her way home from work. This was the third time she'd done so, this week; the awkwardness was slowly beginning to recede, and he was beginning to count her among his true friends. Nothing had happened between them, so far; just talking. Getting to know one another.

"Hey!" She shot him a quick and uncertain smile, as she took off her jacket.

He grinned back. "Long day in the coal mines?" He wondered whether she'd sit in the small chair opposite him, or next to him on the sofa. So far, during her previous two visits, she'd chosen the chair.

She smiled at the coal mine joke, her family was from West Virginia. "Do you think you can come to the residence tomorrow night?"

"Don't see why not," he smiled. "Elaine already called me about it, actually." Sophia was standing halfway between him and the chair, as she fiddled with her jacket. The chair again! Damn! She turned then, walked over to the offending chair, and laid her jacket across it.

"Elaine, huh?" She smirked. "Sounds like I might owe that woman a thank-you." She settled herself on the sofa, a scant few inches away from him. His heart was pounding.

He raised his eyebrows. "Why is that?" He was blushing again, damn it.

"She totally set us up. And you know it!" She gave him a mock-fierce glare. "Or was it your idea, in the first place?"

"Ask me no questions, and I'll-" she gave him a exaggeratedly gentle elbow to the ribs. It was almost a snuggle. Instincts took over, and his arm circled around and hauled her over next to him. Her head rested on his shoulder, his nose in her hair. The physical contact felt almost indescribably good, warm and reassuring, as his heart pounded away like a maddened thing.

Life on Earth was good.


	14. Chapter 14

The White House was in what looked like a state of panic - trucks and delivery people, with a flurry of consultants and security swarming the grounds. It was just after dark, when Sophia drove them smoothly through the gates, in her nondescript brown sedan. The government license plate and the dark-tinted windows were the only hints to suggest that the First Daughter was paying her parents a visit this evening. She gave the keys to a waiting valet, as Mark slowly and carefully pulled himself into a standing position. Getting in and out of cars was still a challenge, but it was getting easier. He hooked his cane around one arm, feeling extremely intimidated, as he followed Sophia through the North Portico, eyes wide.

"You get used to it," she grinned at him, as he followed her to an elevator, neatly hidden by paneling.

Security officers gave little waves and smiles to Sophia, as they made their way to the Treaty Room, so that Mark could sit down and rest for a few minutes before dinner.

He couldn't resist taking some pictures for Oaiea, as he caught his breath. The artworks were legendary-he especially liked the large treaty painting-as he tried to do justice in pictures, to the two hundred years worth of historical artifacts.

"Ten minutes, Miss Sophia," a uniformed woman, housekeeping staff, he assumed, stepped into the room for a moment.

A paneled doorway opened, and President Roberts walked in, carrying a file folder. Mark stood up, automatically.

"First time in the White House?" his eyes crinkled kindly, as he shook Mark's hand and hugged Sophia.

"It is," Mark replied, "This place is like a museum." He smiled, "In a good way."

"Want to see my favorite part?" Perry Roberts gestured to the open door behind him.

"Now Dad's just showing off." Sophia rolled her eyes at him, as they followed him through an oval-shaped room, and out onto a large balcony.

"The Truman Balcony," he intoned, gesturing to a large, covered terrace that overlooked the expansive south lawn, complete with fountain. The Washington Monument, lit from below, glowed in the night sky background, American flags fluttering in the early evening breeze.

"Okay, this settles it. I'm running for president." Mark joked. It was an incredible view, though. He could totally understand now, why the White House had been built on such a scale. It lent a dignity and a certain gravity, to whatever event it was being used for.

Dinner was ready, and Mark followed Sophia blindly, as she wove through a twisty series of rooms towards the family dining room. It was just a quiet dinner this evening, just family, with the exception of Mark and Elaine Kohn, who was there to give him a final rundown of what to expect the following night, after dinner.

x x x

"Okay, Mark," Elaine began, "Generally, when we have one of these state dinners, the guest of honor will arrive, by car. The same entrance you came through, tonight. That's step one." Mark was already entering the information into a file to send along to Oaiea. "We're going to need to have you on hand earlier than that, and you'll be waiting right across the hall in the oval room, just in case we need you to translate."

Mark nodded. "Got it. Sit on my ass and wait. Next?"

"Okay, step two. The President, Oaiea, and the First Lady will pose for a portrait at the top of the stairs. Then we'll bring her into the oval room for about thirty minutes, while they're getting set up downstairs. A small group, mostly the heads of state of the largest countries, fifteen people all together. We'll have a glass of champagne or so, have a sort of informal pre-party."

"Chill time. Check."

Elaine laughed, "Okay, next up - the President will escort Oaiea down the main staircase. Mrs. Roberts and Sophia will follow behind. You'll ride the elevator and meet them at the bottom. The blue and silver chair will be there, next to the elevator, if you need to sit down."

Mark nodded, busily transcribing.

"Sit on my ass and wait some more. Got it. Next?"

"The next part, is when it starts to get noisy," Elaine continued. "The President's Own, um, they're the Marine Band? They'll play Hail to the Chief, followed by the Star-Spangled Banner. Oaiea will stand next to the President, you'll be standing next to Sophia, if you're ready to be back on your feet by then."

"Got it."

"Next up is the receiving line. Oaiea and the President will shake hands and pose for a photo with every guest that cares to, on their way into the dining room. Is she familiar with shaking hands?"

"I think someone has probably explained it to her by now," said Mark, "She's been out and about quite a lot this week. But I'll make a note, just in case."

"You and Sophia will also be in the receiving line, and I would imagine that most of the guests will be just as interested to pose for a picture with you. How long do you think you can manage to be standing up?"

"Thirty minutes, maybe forty-five?" Mark tried not to think of how sore he was going to be on Sunday.

Elaine frowned. "Okay, well, do your best. We'll have a chair or something at the ready. The receiving line will take a long time. Like, wear comfortable shoes, long time."

Mark nodded. "Then it's dinner time?"

"First, President Roberts will make a short speech. Ten minutes. Oaiea has the option of making a short speech, also. We've got a ten minute window for her as well."

" _Then_ it's dinner time?"

"Yep." Elaine smiled. "They'll bring the food out in courses. It'll take about an hour and twenty minutes from start to finish."

"Stuff face. Check." He continued to transcribe his notes for Oaiea. He wondered what sort of speech she would make.

"Then, it's time for the grand finale. It'll be about 10:00PM by then, and as people finish their dinner, they'll walk across to the East Room, where we'll have some dancing, and performances from several different bands."

"What's Oaiea supposed to do?"

"Whatever she wants to," Elaine replied, "Dance, listen to music, sit and chat, mingle, whatever."

"So how late will this shindig run?"

"Late. We don't officially start shutting things down til after 2, but even then, yea. We'll probably still be clearing people out at dawn."

"Seriously?"

Elaine laughed. "Seriously. All bets are off, for this one. It's going to be quite the event."

"Sounds like it. Okay, so that's it? No dancing bears?"

"Not this time. Be here tomorrow afternoon, no later than 3 o'clock" Elaine smiled, pushing back her chair.

He nodded. It was a lot to remember. He followed Elaine past a staircase and several small, oddly-shaped rooms. She left him in front of a paneled doorway, motioning for him to go in, as she disappeared in the opposite direction.

x x x

Was this Sophia's bedroom?! Yes, apparently it was. As evidenced by Sophia herself, stretched out, barefoot, on the four-poster bed that dominated the small room, fiddling with her cell phone. Then he remembered, belatedly, that Sophia didn't live with her parents.

He must have looked confused, because Sophia cheekily informed him, tour-guide style, "...and on your right, you can see the bedroom I laid claim to, for when I stay here with my parents, every once in awhile. You about ready to get out of here?"


	15. Chapter 15

A hot shower was nothing to take for granted, thought Mark. The hot water was soothing away the worst of his sore muscles and aching back, after his daily physical therapy. He had considered taking the day off, in hopes that he'd have more stamina for this evening's state dinner, but Bossy Beck had advised him to go ahead and do his normal session, since it was time for his weekly evaluation. A quick change of clothes, and and was off to Beck's temporary office at the other end of the rehab center.

"Let's make this quick, shall we?" grinned Beck, "I've got to swing by the airport and pick up Beth." he motioned for Mark to sit down. He seemed a bit distracted.

"Sounds good to me."

"Looks like you've been doing a good job, your trainer's report is here. Working on mastering those stairs?"

Mark sighed. "Elevators are my friend. I'm doing better with ascent, but I'm still pretty shaky on descent, when we practice on the three-step bridge."

"You'll get there," Beck gave him an encouraging grin. "It looks like your heart muscle tone is still improving, so that's good. Your overall heart function looks a lot better than a month ago, that's for sure."

"Yeah," agreed Mark, "There was really nowhere to go but up, from that. I don't feel 'normal', but I don't feel like there's a elephant sitting on me all the time anymore, either."

"You've regained just over ten kilos of muscle mass, and you could stand to put on another fifteen, over the next three months or so. Slow and steady wins the race. You're doing great. Overall, huge improvement. Blood pressure is looking good, as well."

"Does that mean I can be officially cleared to drive?"

"You're physically okay for it, how about your mental state? Any panic attacks? How have you been sleeping, lately?"

"No panic attacks. Sleeping okay. The NASA shrink seems satisfied that I'm not a homicidal maniac." Mark grinned.

"Good enough for me. I'll sign off on it." Beck stood up. "You try and take it easy tonight, okay? I'll see you when we get there. I'll buy you that beer I promised you."

"It's open bar." Mark rolled his eyes.

"Exactly." Beck smirked at him.

x x x

The yellow, oval-shaped reception room was surprisingly quiet and calm, as Mark sipped his champagne. He made small talk with the lady in blue to his left, and he idly wondered whether or not it would be rude to compliment her on her tiara. His tuxedo collar felt stiff and tight; he checked the time, surreptitiously, for about the tenth time in twenty minutes. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he saw with relief that President Roberts was being announced.

Oaiea was being introduced to the small group, and as she was being guided to a nearby chair, she paused in front of him for a moment.

 _Good evening, Mark._ She smiled, and gestured to her gown. Apparently the, "So how do I look?" gesture was a universal one.

"You look great, Oaiea." And she really did. She'd chosen a silver-gray gown to complement her chalky white skin-tone, and some adventurous stylist had even applied some makeup for her, accentuating her large, milky-blue eyes. Her feathery white hair had been combed into a style that looked like... he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He noted with amusement that she wore her usual flight suit underneath the satin gown. He guessed that the world was just not yet quite ready for alien cleavage. The entire effect was exotic and sylph-like, though, and not at all unattractive.

She nodded at his compliment, and was seated across from him. She'd clearly been coached by someone, Elaine probably, as he watched her cross her legs at the ankles with exaggerated grace, and accepted a glass of champagne. He shook his head in amusement as she took a sip, and met his eyes with a shocked look of revulsion. He laughed, he couldn't help it.

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder then, and he turned to smile at Sophia.

"Nice dress. Just something you had laying around, huh?"

She smoothed the folds of her midnight-blue gown, and said with an affected, exaggerated pout, "Oh, this old thing?" and then favored him with a rather unladylike smirk.

x x x

It was strange to be shaking hands with Teddy Sanders, who'd almost gotten him killed, in the receiving line. He'd been told that Sanders had been devastated when they'd lost signal with Iris 2; but it was hard not to remember those endless days of starvation when he looked at the man tonight. He forced himself to smile politely and nod. "Good to see you again, Watney," he'd said cheerfully, as he introduced his wife.

Rick Martinez and his wife, Marissa were next, followed by Johanssen and Beck. Beth was looking very stylish, he noted, in a sleek black gown that showcased her slim figure. Mark couldn't help noticing a tiny, but unmistakable new curve at her waistline. Was she pregnant?! It seemed like an endless parade of people to greet and shake hands with. His hands were hurting, his back ached fiercely, and finally his legs were about to start shaking in protest. "Need a break," he whispered to Sophia, and made his way to a chair. He checked the time; he'd been on his feet over an hour. Not bad.

Oaiea was holding her own, gamely shaking hands with all and sundry, smiling, even though Mark happened to know that she was distinctly uncomfortable with being touched. Mark wasn't sure, but he thought maybe she might be afraid of human germs. She did a good job hiding it, tonight. An elderly John Schneider approached her then, and Oaiea seemed to have a genuine moment of confusion as she tried to figure out why she recognized him; then she burst out into musical laughter as she finally recognized Bo Duke.

x x x

"A few more pictures," Elaine motioned for him, "of Mark Watney, together with the guest of honor." He'd caught his breath by then, and his legs still hurt, but he could make it, he thought.

He posed, smiling, standing next to Oaiea; then, nothing else would do except for the entire Ares 3 crew to be assembled for a group picture with the president and Oaiea.

Martinez found a moment, of course, to give Mark a hard time about his date for the evening. "Air Force girls, man. They're hard _core_. And she's like half your age-you really think you can handle all that?" he leered at Mark suggestively.

Beck chimed in, "Mark, you and Sophia Roberts? That's really a thing?"

"Would you two shut up?" Mark rolled his eyes. "And she's not half my age."

"He didn't deny it!" Martinez gloated.

x x x

Finally, they were seated at a round table near the podium, as the rest of the guests slowly took their seats. Menu cards were laid across the plates. Mark was less than pleased to note that the first course was some sort of potato-encrusted fish. Thanks a lot, Elaine, he thought. He wondered idly whether Oaiea had tried out human food yet. Would it make her sick, as her food had done to him? Her space sludge had been, as near as he could tell, some sort of by-product from the ship's fuel. No wonder it tasted bad. Oaiea had taken only the tiniest of sips of her champagne earlier that evening, she clearly hadn't liked it at all. Then again, champagne was pretty sour; it was something of an acquired taste. Mark checked the time.

It was almost time for President Roberts to make his brief speech.


	16. Chapter 16

"Good evening, everyone," began President Roberts, as the room fell quiet.

"Welcome to the White House. Madison and I could not be more honored that you could join us this evening for this momentous event. Tonight, the United States celebrates the visit of Oaiea, a traveler that found and returned Mark Watney to us. It was a kind and generous thing for her to do. We appreciate it so much." He smiled at Oaiea.

"Since the dawn of humanity, we have looked to the stars and wondered if mankind was alone in the universe. Now, we know unequivocally that we are not, and it is a wonderful discovery indeed. To have forged a friendship with Oaiea's people is such an honor for mankind."

"When news of all of this first reached me, last month; to be honest, I was a little scared. Afraid of the unknown. I know that a lot of us felt that way, at first. I am proud to say tonight, that humanity has changed. We've grown. We've opened our minds to the bigger picture."

"It makes you feel a little small and insignificant, doesn't it? When you think about it? That our warm welcome and offer of friendship here tonight won't even be known to Oaiea's people for many of our generations to come. It seems like a message in a bottle."

"But we boldly take the first step, anyway. Not knowing what might come of it. Because humanity has changed. We're learning. We're going to keep on striving to teach our children. Encourage them to learn and grow and keep striving."

"I'd like to propose a toast. To Oaiea, and her people."

The room roared with applause, as glasses clinked.

x x x

Some minutes later, the room was once again quiet, as the guest of honor made her way to the podium.

 _Citizens of Earth,_ began Oaiea, _Tonight I stand before you, doing that which my people have thought not possible_. She paused a long moment, silent. _Many thousands of years ago, my people sent out our first few Travelers, to begin to explore; To begin the search for life on other planets. We too, looked to the stars. For many thousands of years, we learned much about the universe, but had no reason to believe that life had evolved anywhere else in the galaxy._

 _A little more than ten thousand Earth years ago, the first hint of life on this planet was discovered. Another race of carbon-based life. My people were so anxious to establish contact, that they forgot to consider whether or not they ought to. Tragedy was the result. A new generation rose up in anger against the people of this planet. Earth was declared off-limits; the home of a hopeless race of short-lived savages._

 _When I became a Traveler, and announced my intentions to try again to travel to this part of the galaxy, the reaction of my people was_ , she paused to smile, _not enthusiastic. None of my people were willing to travel to this place with me. I came alone. Not to contact humanity again, but to observe_.

 _It was,_ she paused again, meeting Mark's eyes, smiling, _a lonely voyage. When I reached Mars, my ship informed me of satellite devices. My ship and I watched, together, as the supply vessel Iris Two was disintegrated. That led us in turn to Mark._

 _The very revelation. That humans had somehow managed to defy their short lifespans, and had progressed so far, in such an unimaginably short timespan; to send out their own Travelers. It was unthinkable, and yet it was true._

 _When I decided to bring Mark Watney to Earth, to spend three-hundred Earth days in the company of a human; everything that I knew about humanity told me that I was risking my life and my ship. But the thought that Earth would not have to suffer as my people did, by losing their Traveler, who they obviously cared about enough to try to save; I hoped that it could be the catalyst for change._

 _And so I stand before you this evening, citizens of Earth. I have walked among you, and learned much._ She lifted her glass. _Keep looking to the stars_.

The room fairly exploded into cheers and applause, as Oaiea made her way back to her seat.


	17. Chapter 17

It was early morning, and Mark opened his eyes just enough to note that he was not in his own bed.

What in the hell? He had a headache. That much was certain. Had he passed out? He couldn't remember. Opening his eyes again, he surveyed the unfamiliar room, with its four-poster bed... and, his heart started pounding-what the hell had happened last night!? He lifted his head, wondering where his clothes were, and then belatedly realized that he wasn't alone.

Sophia stirred, still mostly asleep.

"Still tired," she mumbled, and her nose wrinkled. "And hung over." She snuggled into his shoulder, throwing one arm across his waist. Apparently, her sleepwear of choice was a sleeveless t-shirt.

Abruptly deciding to remain in bed for the time being, he leaned into the sleepy embrace, curving his other arm around her bare shoulder and pulling her close. Her skin was so smooth and soft, and laying here pressed up against her felt so deliriously good and warm that he thought he might just not move an inch until she woke up. He could do this all afternoon; headache be damned. Her breathing evened out, as she fell asleep again.

Her hair was a tiny bit damp; she must have had a shower. He laid there for a long time, breathing in the soft, lemony scent of her shampoo, and enjoying the closeness. He felt like he could never get enough skin contact again, as long as he lived. It was intoxicating. He tried to remember how, in the name of God, he'd wound up here. What had happened last night? Not that he was complaining, exactly.

He tried to replay the events of the previous evening. He no problem remembering Oaiea talking, the dinner had started... and then things started getting fuzzy. He had a flashing memory of some loud music, and feeling woozy. Then, nothing. Had he really had that much to drink? He'd had a couple glasses of champagne, and he remembered a couple of glasses of wine with dinner. Then he realized what had happened-a basic failure to do the math-he'd hadn't taken into account that he was still about thirty pounds underweight, and hadn't had a drink in over two years. Whoops. Apparently he'd been a cheap date. He hoped he hadn't done anything embarrassing. He didn't think anything other than sleep had happened in this bed, though. He didn't think he could have possibly forgotten THAT.

He was starting to relax again; his heart was calming down. He pulled the covers back up, and cuddled up closer against Sophia, wrapping his other arm around her waist, surrendering completely to the delicious warmth. A wave of contentment washed over him, followed by a wave of sleepiness. Nothing else really mattered right now.

x x x

"For fuck's sake, would you answer that," mumbled Beth as she prodded Chris. She pulled a pillow over her ears and rolled away from him.

Groggy, he fumbled for his phone. "Yes," he paused, listening, "He never checked in?" Beck took about two seconds to deduce where Mark likely still was. "It's fine. He's fine. He'll be back later today. Yes." He hung up, shaking his head in amusement.

"You want some breakfast, babe?" He raised one corner of the pillow so that she could hear him.

"God, no." Beth groaned. Morning sickness again, it seemed. She burrowed back under the covers, trying to tune him out.

"You'll feel better if you eat something."

A grumpy sigh of agreement issued from under the covers.

He smiled. He'd missed this.

"So guess who stayed out past curfew last night?" He walked the three steps to the tiny kitchen to start the coffeemaker.

"Our favorite Martian?" Beth poked her head out from under the covers. "Seriously? Watney and Sophia Roberts?" She shook her head, sleepily. "Did not see that one coming." She sat up, looking nauseated. "How long has that been going on?"

"As far as I know, he only met her maybe two weeks ago." Beck grinned, as he cracked open an egg.

"Oh well, not everyone properly appreciates a slow burn." She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"A slow burn, is that what that was?" Beck rolled his eyes. "Could have fooled me." More like spontaneous combustion.

She padded into the kitchen to join him, occupying the chair closest to the coffeemaker. "Watney knows, by the way."

"Hmm?"

"He totally noticed our little bump last night. Guess we'd better start telling people."

Beck considered that for a few minutes as he folded over an omelet for Beth. He slid the plate in front of her and started making another for himself. "You want to tell them all tonight? I was thinking it'd be nice to get the crew together one more time before people start getting back to their regular lives. Alex and Helena have a flight tomorrow morning."

"You want the crew to know first?" She smiled up at him quizzically. "Before we've told our parents? Your sister?"

"We'll call the family tomorrow," he hedged, with a grin.

"Agreed. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces!"

Beth was wearing that mischievous smile that he loved.

x x x

Was he really going to have to do the Walk of Shame in a tuxedo? Mark cringed at the thought, but there was not going to be any getting around it. Awk-ward! He wondered if anyone had informed the President yet. Not much question that someone had, by now. So very awkward! At this very moment, no doubt, some poor Secret Service agent was typing up a report about it. Would it make the evening news? Yes. Yes, it probably would. Shit. There were probably photographers at the gate, gleeful at the thought of this very scenario.

Sophia had disappeared a few minutes ago, to see if anything could be liberated from the downstairs kitchen. It was past noon, and they were both starving. He'd had a quick shower in the surprisingly tiny en-suite, and now he sat, towel around his waist, staring mutinously at the tuxedo, wishing there was some way to get out of putting it back on.

A soft tap at the door. "It's me," whispered Sophia, as he unlocked it.

"Sorry, it was slim pickings. They were cleaning up from lunch."

"Looks good to me, thanks." They shared a grilled sandwich, with melted cheese and tomatoes. At least it wasn't potatoes. And some hot coffee. He and Sophia shared the same mug; he guessed that she'd been too embarrassed to take two from the kitchen.

Now things were getting a lot more awkward. He was definitely out of practice; this whole morning-after thing was like being raked over the coals. And nothing had even happened! Not that anyone would ever believe that, now. He found that he couldn't even meet her eyes.

Sophia was quiet, perhaps her thoughts were on a similar plane.

"Let them talk," she smiled at him. She gave him a sympathetic look, then. "C'mon. I'll drive you back."

x x x

More awkward silence during the long drive back to Langley.

The longer that Sophia stared impassively at the highway, the more certain he was that he'd really fucked things up somehow. Maybe he was just not ready for all of this.

Finally, breaking the silence, he ventured, "Sophia, I'm sorry. I just..." he trailed off uncertainly. What had gone wrong, exactly? "I'm rusty. It's hard for me to talk to people now."

Sophia nodded thoughtfully. She was silent for a few long moments, and then, slowly, "Mark, I get that. Truly. I do." She paused again. "I've thought about that; I've thought about it a lot, actually."

"Any brilliant observations on the topic?" He grinned at her, sheepishly.

"I don't know. This all happened so fast." She smiled at him. "Unless I miss my guess, this would never have happened in the first place, if Elaine hadn't twisted your arm."

Mark shrugged at that. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not sorry that it did."

"And last night." Sophia paused again, trying to find the right words, "Maybe it was a bad idea. I could have sent you home. But I didn't want to." She smiled at him, "And I've noticed that you seem to be... shall we say... very appreciative of physical contact with me. I thought you would like it."

"You weren't wrong." He grinned, embarrassed. "You weren't wrong about that."

"And I didn't really think about how it might be embarrassing for you, or that it might reflect poorly on you. I should have thought about that. I'm sorry."

"No apology needed."

They lapsed into a much more comfortable silence, as the miles passed.

"Mark?" She had a sly smile.

"Yes?"

"Doesn't it kind of suck," she bit her bottom lip thoughtfully, "That everyone in the world is going to assume that the two of us were enjoying White House sexytimes last night, and it's not even true?"

"Yes, that does indeed suck." Mark laughed, nodding.

Sophia was quiet for a moment.

"So I was thinking. If everyone's already assumed we're guilty..." she trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Then why don't we just go ahead and commit the crime?" She smirked at him.

He liked the way she thought.


	18. Chapter 18

It was a call-back to a different era, as the crew and their respective spouses gathered in a downtown restaurant. They all knew it might be a while before they were all together again, maybe a long while. It was amazing how much the return of their lost crewmate had restored the group's dynamic, after two years of barely being able to discuss their missing crewmate. Now, even though the crewmate in question was allegedly stuck in traffic, he was still the topic of conversation.

Martinez was recounting to the group the tabloid news program he'd been watching earlier, and the others listened in amusement to the rumors and innuendo about Mark and his overnight stay at the White House.

"I'm telling you, man," Rick grinned at Vogel, "It's true. I saw that little vixen dragging him out of there, before the band had even finished their first set."

"You sound jealous!" teased Marissa.

Rick waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. "Not a chance."

"If anyone deserves to sow some wild oats," Lewis smiled, "It's got to be Watney."

"You are mistaken, Commander." Vogel quipped, "Watney only likes to sow the potato."

x x x

"Sorry I'm late!" Mark greeted them, as he walked in, holding Sophia's hand. "This one couldn't find a parking place." Sophia smiled sheepishly; she looked a bit uncomfortable at being included in such a gathering, with only spouses and established couples. But she found a seat next to Helena Vogel, whom she'd chatted with the previous evening, and before long she looked right at home.

The dinner conversation was varied, as they rehashed the events of the previous month, as well as plans for the future. Martinez confided that he was in the selection pool for the next Ares mission, and he had a decent chance at being named commander, to boot.

"How about you two?" Lewis asked Beck and Johanssen, "What's next for you guys?"

Beth favored them all with a mischievous grin, "We've got a small project in the works, actually."

"Programming? Which agency are you contracting with?" Lewis asked.

"It involves genetics, actually." Beck chimed in, as everyone looked at him, baffled. "Beth and I are going to be working together, on this project."

"Genetics?" Lewis looked confused. Genetics was not a specialty of either Beck or Johanssen. And why was Watney grinning at her, like a fool?

"We figure the project will probably be ready to deliver, in about six more months," Beth added slyly, as Lewis began to catch on, laughing.

"Oh, you guys are awful! Congratulations!" There was a round of hugs (for Beth) dire warnings (for Chris) and plenty of inappropriate baby name suggestions, as the evening wore on. They settled on a plan to get together again in Houston during the holidays to meet the new arrival.

x x x

Inevitably the conversation drifted towards the subject of the last month's events.

"How much longer do you think Oaiea will stay?" Lewis asked Mark.

"A few days," he replied, "She's enjoyed her visit, but I think she's about ready to go now."

"Humanity still makes her a little nervous?" Beck smiled.

"I think that's part of it. She doesn't want to be a disruption, or overstay her welcome. Mission complete, as they say." Mark had an unusually solemn expression.

"You're going to miss her." Lewis looked sympathetic.

"Yeah. I mean, I'll still talk to her. Even by the time I'm 90, there'll only be a ten-hour delay if I want to send her a message." He stopped for a moment, sounding choked up. "It's more that I know I'll never see her again." He paused for a moment. "You know, you spend a year with someone in space," he grinned, sadly, at all of them, "and it's kind of a given that they're going to be in your life, forever."

There was a quiet moment as they looked at one another. They were crewmates, and crew was family. And this crew knew exactly what that was like; to lose one of their own. For Mark, to be left behind, once again, by someone he had the same sort of bond with... they understood, all too well.

"We're here for you." Beck chucked Mark on the shoulder. There were nods of agreement. Lewis covered his hand with hers.

Martinez clapped him on the back. "We've always got your back, bro."

x x x

It had been a long time since he'd driven a car, but today Mark was behind the wheel once again. It felt good, normal, to remember the turn signals, and adjust the rear-view mirror, feel his foot pressing down on the gas pedal. Like going home again. Leasing himself a car had been one of his first acts of freedom, now that he had been released to the Independent Living facility.

Back in the Hab, a year ago, if someone had told him that someday his life was going to start feeling normal again... Well, there had been nobody to tell him anything. He had accepted, more or less, that despite his best efforts, he would die alone; that was going to be his story. That guy that died on Mars. It was out of his hands.

And yet, somehow, here he was. He'd made it home. Against all odds. Driving a car down I-65, to visit with Oaiea one last time. The windows were rolled down, as the early spring breeze cross-swept through the car. It felt so good, so real; that he couldn't keep a smile at bay.

Through the gates at Andrews Field, he flashed his ID and drove towards the small craft that had been his home for nearly a year. He parked, and walked slowly towards the ship; its thrusters were angled down, just as they had been the morning he'd first seen it. He patted it, shining and warm in the afternoon sunshine, feeling the absorbed heat radiate from the tortoiseshell-textured hull. The ship's name was emblazoned on the side in black, spelling out the symbols that he knew meant Stargazer, even if he could never say the actual name.

The airlock was open, its aperture rings retracted into the hull. He hadn't seen it that way, not since those long ago days in the Acidalia Planitia. He paused for a moment to run his hands along the outer, burnished shell. Like Oaiea, he'd developed a healthy respect for this ship. It had protected him, it had saved his life just as surely as Oaiea had. He'd never forget this ship. He patted the outer hull one last time, and then sat down and swung his legs into the craft. He stepped through the second airlock circle, and stood up; this had been his bedroom for the long voyage.

"Oaiea," he sang out to her as he looked around the lowest level of the ship. Here and there were small reminders of his voyage, a couple of navy blue blankets folded neatly into the alcove next to the ladder to the living room. A half-used roll of duct tape. His one remaining laptop, and the power outlet he and Oaiea had jury-rigged to keep it charged. He'd offered to let Oaiea keep one of his computers in exchange for one of hers, and she'd chosen this one.

"Arrr," she greeted him, calling down to him from the kitchen area. He climbed the ladder, placing each foot carefully. He'd never done so with Earth's gravity pulling on him, it felt strange and very dangerous, somehow. He paused for a moment to look at the two small seats in the living room, where he'd woken up that first day, not sure if he was dreaming or dead. On the opposite wall was the unused sleeping chamber, the one that she'd used for storage instead. He knew that if he opened it, he'd see the four shelves, with their extra flight suits, maintenance tools, and other seldom-used objects. The lowest shelf was empty now; it had been his for the voyage. The ceiling, with its see-through mid-sagittal slat, was too low for him to stand up; how many times had he banged his head here? A lot. He put his hand to his forehead, unconsciously, and rubbed.

He climbed the ladder to the next landing; his legs were burning, and there was not much to see here. Another sleep chamber behind one closed door, and the small cockpit area behind another. He kept climbing, reaching the final landing. Oaiea sat on her short couch, as always. She looked up at him and smiled. He sank down to sit on the floor across from her.

They didn't speak, for a long time. He closed his eyes tightly; his throat felt tight as he tried to keep his emotions in check. Finally, he tapped out a message for her.

" _Thank you doesn't seem like a big enough word for how grateful I am. For everything that you've done_." The musical words sounded out, from his heart to hers. He tried to force himself to smile as his façade crumbled, and he leaned forward, pulling his knees close; his eyes filled with tears.

 _I am grateful too_. She paused, to give him the enigmatic smile he'd grown so used to. _Our voyage was a good one_.

They were silent again for a long time.

 _I wish you could come with me. My people would welcome you as a Traveler. I wish that it could be so_. Now Oaiea's smile faded, and the timbre of her voice sounded wistful and sad.

" _Maybe someday_." He grinned at her. " _Never underestimate a determined Earthling_."

 _That is wise advice._ She laughed.

" _When I'm gone_ ," he paused for a moment, " _After I die. What do you want me to do with this_?" He gestured to his computer.

 _Give it to your son, or your daughter; or another Traveler you choose. We can continue our friendship through the ages_.

" _I'll try not to pick anyone too annoying_." He smirked at her.

She laughed again, at that.

 _There will be a state dinner in your honor, one day. It might seem like a long time in the future, to you. But remember. You may be gone, but your voice will be heard; your name will be spoken. I will tell my people about the Traveler from Earth. My people will raise their glasses and thank you for helping to forge this friendship between our people_.

He tried to picture it. He couldn't help smiling at the thought.

" _You take lots of pictures for me, okay? I wish I could be there_." He grinned at her. It was time to go. He stood up.

She rose to her feet as he did. She pointed to her heart, and then to his.

 _You will be_.

x x x

The End


End file.
